Race is Only a Colour
by nicolalala
Summary: Words at are spat out at me, looks are thrown my way, and tears prickle my eyes and my nose runs. No matter what skin tone, I still have feelings.
1. Oh, mother!

My mother has never dated a black man. Other than my father. When I asked why, she'd wrinkle her nose and give me this look.

"Aw heck, Georgia! I believe that is no one's business but my own!" It so happens I believe it is my business. He is my father after all. My mother thinks I can't make smart decisions but she can't either. She's got a new boyfriend every month. And they're all jerks. Once, a real long time ago, we had to go to this family therapy gig with my aunt. My mother claims that she needs a man in her life to keep her "secure". I snorted at that. When they leave, and they all do, she's just as insecure as always. I don't know who would want to marry her with her whiny attitude and inconsistent moods. She is real pretty though, with straight brown hair and her sparkly eyes. I told her so, and she got this sad look in her eyes and pulled me down to sit on her lap. I cuddled on her shoulder and look at her watery eyes.

"Looks ain't everything, Georgia." She whispered. "They ain't the half of it." I understand her so well. She is a picture of beauty but I don't think she has ever had anyone love her for real. I love my mother though. She ain't a housewive or none of that, but we understand each other.

We lived in a beat-up mobile home on the outskirts of Chicago. Last month my mother came running inside. I was sitting at the stained table, trying to focus on algebra. X=..? I looked up and saw my mother breathing hard with smudged make-up and tears streaked on her face. I stood up slowly, letting my chair screech. It happened again. I held her close and let her sob on my shoulder.

"Aw Momma, he wasn't worth it anyways. You could do so much better." I patted her back like she does to me when I get upset. Whenever boyfriend Tom, Harry or Marv run out on us, mother likes to 'start over'. We move to a new town with all new people and she gets a new job that comes with a new dirt bag boyfriend.

They're all the same. They curl up their lip when they see my light brown skin. One of them, Jim, asked if I would be better off with 'my people'. I don't even know any black people! I looked up at my mother, expecting her to say something to Mr. Man. She just looked down, all flushed, like she was embarrassed or something.

I leaned forward to my mother; she was still sobbing and saying incoherent phrases into my hair. I did what I always did. I turned her around and steered her into our rinky dinky bathroom. I faced her to the mirror and put my arm around for comfort.

"I see a strong, confident woman, who doesn't need a man." I spoke softly. I looked at my own reflection. I have long curly brown hair, that doesn't straighten no matter what. Rosy cheeks and full lips, I must have gotten something from my father, other than his brown skin. I find myself, dissatisfied with my looks though. My mother always tells me that I'm beautiful, but she's practically a pageant queen!

The next day my mother told me to start packing. I stopped reading and gave her a look. In all twelve years of my life, I have moved ten times. Whenever Chip, Larry or Skip leaves, so do we. I have practically no friends because of it. I cautiously asked where we were going.

"Tulsa!" She smiled wistfully. "I was going to marry your father there, you know." I studied her face, she never spoke of him. He died in a car accident. Her eyes filled with tears before she hastily left for the bathroom.

Tulsa, huh?


	2. That Redhead Boy

In Chicago, it wasn't like I was the only black kid there. There was about 50 black kids at my old school. Not that they were my friends. All the black boys would glare at me or ignore me. I could hear the black girls' gossip and I was a hot topic. White people treated me the same, acting all high and mighty. I wasn't truly black but I definetly wasn't white. So I had no one. I could hear the thing they said about me, that made my ears burn and my eyes sting. Even worse, sometimes they spoke of my mother calling her "white trash" and other choice phrases, due to the fact that she gave birth to me when she was fifteen years old. She's still quite young and a downright scandal where ever we go. Men speak badly of her, but they don't have a problem with gaping at her when she walks by, white men and black alike.

I stared out the window as we drove to Tulsa. The trees all blended together as we drove by and I wished that I could stop and stay with them. They looked like blurs of paint smudged on the window. My mother was trying to tame her bed head into a twist at the back of her head and drink coffee, while driving. We had been driving non-stop for ten hours. I was cramped in our old Volvo and I couldn't stretch my legs out. My mother was now humming an old jiggle under her breath.

"Hey Momma, how much longer?" I whined. I know I sounded like a baby but I was just real tired of sitting down so still.

"Hush child, we'll get there when we get there," she frowned as she tried to snap back the lid on her coffee cup. I pryed it out of her tight grip and popped the lid back on. I looked out the window once again and the trees blended back together into blissful nothingness. I curled to my side to be as comfortable as possible and slowly shut my eyes.

I thought about Logan, one of my mother's favourite boyfriends. He didn't call me 'girl' or 'nigra' and didn't comment on my racial features. When my mother was with him she was happy, laughing for no reason. The atmosphere of our small family was lighter and peaceful. I remember he would come over and crack jokes with me, listen to my problems and ask about school. My mother would rant on and on about how he was 'the one' and make silly fantasies of a perfect wedding. Logan wasn't rich or ambitious, but he made my mother happy. This lasted for about two months. I came home from school expecting to see my mother and Logan preparing dinner, but instead I saw him drunk in our kitchen and my mother locked in her bedroom, scared. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his clothes were stained. He looked like a common drunk. Logan had never been more different. He sneered at me and questioned my intelligence. I could smell the alcohol coming off his breath, making want to throw up. Called me names and made me cry. I ran to my room and sobbed. I could hear my mother quietly come out of her room. I wiped my tears and looked through the keyhole for my door. My mother spoke quietly to Logan. He guffawed and leaned down to kiss her cheek. Her expression became stony and she motioned towards the door. Logan sauntered outside and slammed the door. My mother collapsed onto the kitchen chair where Logan once sat and cradled herself in her arms. I could hear Logan shouted curses and obscenities at our house and family all night. I know she could too. The next day we left.

"Georgia! Hon, wake up!" My mother shook me out of my slumber. I looked blearily at her bright smile and rubbed my eyes. We weren't surrounded by trees anymore but in a busy street. I had been asleep for forty-five minutes. I looked out the window. Tulsa looked like your average, sleepy town. My mother beamed at me and jotted something down in her journal. I leaned my head against the window. I could see some kids that looked older than me. They were all white and mean looking. One of them caught my eye and looked curiously at me. I quickly turned away fast and faced the front of the car. My mother was frowning at the directions and muttering under her breath. She didn't notice my move from the window.

"Georgia, I just don't understand these directions. Be a doll and ask someone where Havenview Avenue is." Momma searched through piles of maps. I looked at her face at saw that she had dark circles under her eyes from driving all night. I reluctantly unbuckled my seat belt and hopped out of the car. I stretched my legs and saw the mean looking boys heading my way. Now that they were closer I could see that they were all older than me; the youngest looked to be fourteen.

I cleared my throat. "Excuse me, do you know where Havenview Avenue is?" They gaped at me with their mouths open, staring unashamed. I was uneasy and started to blush. One of the older boys with red hair stepped forward and gave me a look. I turned even redder, if that was possible.

"Now, you best be on your way, don't come around here again." He towered over me and stared me down. I squeaked with fright and ran back to the car. I slammed the door and blinked back tears. Momma turned around and smiled sadly at me. She always knew what happened, I didn't have to tell her. She turned around and unbuckled her own seatbelt.

"No, Momma, what are you doing?" I whispered furiously. She took a deep breath and stepped outside. I started to pray in my head while she was talking to those boys. I knew a few prayers from Sunday school. I said them all in my head, fast as I could. I could hear their voices rising louder in the streets until they stopped. My mother turned back around and climbed back into the Volvo with a proud smile on her face.

"What did they say?" I asked anxiously.

She smiled at me and her eyes twinkled. "They certainly knew where Havenview Avenue was! That red head boy was your cousin, Georgia!"

Dang it.


	3. Nathan and Keith

We drove in silence to 7 Havenview Avenue, our new home. It looked the same as most of our old homes. Small, rundown. The weeds were taking over the yard and it looked like no one had cut the grass in years. I could see that the brick was crumbling on the walls and the door paint was chipping. It was a fixer-upper alright. I liked it anyways. I never feel like I have to impress anyone with where I live or how big my home is. But I could see if we mowed the lawn and repainted the door, it would look pretty decent. I looked over at my mother, who was smiling wistfully at the house and I know that she saw it too.

There was no moving truck; we brought everything we need in the Volvo.

Momma always says, "Yessir, us Brennans are light packers!" Ain't that the truth. My clothes and school things all fitted right into a small suitcase. I had a backpack full of books and a small jewelry box with earrings and savings. Momma had about the same, and the rest was furniture.

I've learned not to get too attached to our houses though. The longest we've stayed in town was six months and it was because of Nathan.

When I was about ten years old, so two years ago, my mother had this boyfriend Lou. Lou was definetly not friendly with me. When Momma wasn't around, he didn't do so much as look at me. It makes me feel real low when someone doesn't even acknowledge my existence. I would mostly ignore him back, except when he talked rude to Momma. She was crazy about him. He would sometimes call her names or get angry but she always forgave him. Momma had a special dinner all planned out for her and Lou.

"Big announcement!" She would wink at me whenever I asked about it. She spent all day getting her hair and nails done just right. When Loy came she sent me to my room for the night. I reckon I wasn't so smart, but I wasn't stupid either. I pretended to get ready for bed, brushing my teeth and such. When I was all done I switched off the light and called out good night. I didn't sleep though, I stayed up and watched through the peephole of the door as Lou and Momma eat their way through three courses. She was ecstatic, beaming and smiling all night. When they finished their desert, she told Lou the surprise. Momma was pregnant! I squealed quietly and clapped my hands together. Lou, on the only hand stood up quickly and knocked over his chair. He grabbed her arms and shook her like she was nothing but a rag doll.

"Are you serious!" He shouted at her face, spraying her with spit. "Is this a joke?" She looked away, terrified. He dropped her on the ground and walked out of our house, out of our life, without untucking his napkin. This time, we didn't leave, Lou did. We never saw him again. That was fine by me, I was going to have a little sibling! Everyday, Momma's stomach would get bigger and bigger. I could feel the baby kicking in her stomach, wanting to be free. I helped out a lot with the baby preparation. I cooked dinner when Momma was tired or feeling badly. Momma would sometimes get hot spells and cold spells, making her look clammy and feverish. I sometimes had to run down to the market and pick up pills for her health. I wanted this baby but Momma was frightening me. She never seemed to be better; the bigger she got, the more ill she became. I didn't think much of it though. I had never seen someone pregnant or having a baby. Momma and I would sit up late talking about how she just knew it was a boy. We decided to call him Nathan Rayland Brennan, after my Granddaddy. Momma kept getting sick though. One night I woke up and all the lights in my house were on. I opened my door and squinted against the bright light. There were people bustling around all over. Some I recognized from church groups or my mother's diner. Coming and going through the house not stopping to speak to me. They all had solemn expressions on their face and I knew it was bad. I kept tugging on their sleeves but no one would stop. They crowded around my mother's room and I could hear her sad sobs echoing off the walls like a cry for help. I pushed through the crowd to my mother's bed. There was a team of doctors around her wearing scary masks. She looked awful, with tear marks on her face and pale, pale skin. I held her bony hand.

"Momma?" I whispered. She looked at my with pain filled eyes and hugged me silently. I knew than that Nathan Rayland Brennan didn't make it to this world. We cried all night long, holing each other like that.

I snapped out of it and started to unpack the truck. We made about six trips, pulling suitcases and bags inside the house, up the short drive way. The last thing in the car was our beds. They were nice double beds that Granddaddy made when I was born, before he knew that I was half-black. They were stuck; wedged in the trunk. The hot sun was shining on my back and I could see that my mother was worn out. On the count of three, we tried to lift them again. Defeated, I leaned against the car breathing hard.

A voice rang out from down the street. "Hey, Aunt Henny! Let me give you a hand with that!" That red headed boy jogged up to our house and smiled at Momma. I groaned. He looked at me again but not in a mean way. He just studied my face. Momma hugged him and told him how nicely he grew up.

"Oh Keith, you're so tall now! Such a handsome young man too! You must have all the ladies fawning over you!" My mother stood on her tip toes and patted his hair like he was the cutest thing. He smiled politely and I felt sorry for him, sometimes Momma overdoes it. Not that I was complaining though, he was so rude earlier.

"Keith, I didn't introduce you to your cousin! This is Georgia, she's twelve years old." Momma smiled fondly at me and raised her eyebrows when I didn't say anything.

"Pleasure to meet you Keith," I said dryly. There was an awkward moment we neither one of us wanted to shake hands with the other, before Keith turned around and started to unload the double beds, motioning for us to help him. Keith and Momma were chatting up a storm, talking about all these relatives I'd never heard of. I stood waiting patiently for my bed to go in my room while Keith and Momma chatted ("And then Cousin Lily dropped the pie!") I already knew which room was mine since there were only two bedrooms and Momma always got the bigger one. I could already picture what my room would look like when I was done with it. Light purple bedding to match the walls and a nice white rug. I sighed happily I could see it already.

"Georgia would love to!" I was snapped out of my daydream and turned to Momma who was smiling expectantly at me. "Wouldn't you?"

"Hmm?" I asked absent mindedly. Keith snorted. I frowned at my feet, it wasn't my fault that I wasn't listening.

"Georgia, Keith invited us to go to your Aunt Rachie's place for dinner and meet his friends?" Momma asked me but I knew she already had her mind made up. Keith was weird enough but dinner with his friends was bound to be a disaster.


	4. Rosacea and Dinner

I tried to signal 'NO!' to Momma but I reckon she ignored it. She ran upstairs to freshen up and I was left alone with Keith. For a little while, the only sounds I could hear were the ticking of my watch. I quickly looked up at Keith. He was tapping his foot on the ground. _TICK, TOCK! _He looked up and I hurriedly looked away, out the window. I wish I could be free from this town. I hate it already. I wish I could just grab Momma and fly out the window like a bird, with my wings fluttering in the gentle breeze and the sweet smell of nectar. Momma would laugh at the way the wind blows her long hair and she would say she needs no man. I would smile and we'd fly around with a care in the worl—

"Kid?" Keith interrupted my daydream. I stared at him. "I'm, uh, real sorry about before. I didn't know—"

"You didn't know what? That I'm your cousin or that you were being rude?" I was positively fuming by now. "And don't call me kid!" He looked sheepish and taken back by my anger.

"Yeah, well both I guess," Keith answered lazily. He chuckled. "Boy, you sure got spark kid!" I took a deep breath and counted to ten in my head. He and his arrogance weren't going to get to me. I was above that. I wouldn't let it. The awkward silence hung in the air once more. _TICK, TOCK! TICK, TOCK!_ What was taking my mother so long? I quickly excused myself to the bathroom to avoid any more half-hearted apologies.

I slammed the bathroom door shut and breathed deeply. I looked in the mirror. I looked the same as always, big brown eyes, round nose and rosy cheeks. I tried to put water on my cheeks so that they didn't look so red. What if Keith thought he made me cry? I quickly rubbed my cheeks with a hand towel. They turned even brighter than before. I yelped when I saw myself in the mirror; I looked like a poster child for rosacea. **(A/N rosacea is when your cheeks are naturally red due to a rash sort of skin type.) **I could hear the ceiling above me creak and I knew that Momma was out of her bedroom and coming downstairs. I panicked. I couldn't meet the first people in Tulsa looking like Raggedy Ann! I grabbed my mother's foundation and caked it on. My mother had lighter skin however so the foundation washed out my face and made me look ill. Aw heck, maybe I'd be able to leave early! Or even better, not even go to Aunt Rachie's! I heard Momma call me name and I took my time walking out of the bathroom.

"Momma, I think I'm becoming ill," I moaned. "I don't feel good at all." My mother put a hand over her mouth and her eyes grew sympathetic for me. I think Keith saw right through me though. He raised his red eyebrows at me but didn't say nothing. I could tell that Momma was conflicted between letting me stay home and going to Aunt Rachie's and Keith's home. Momma put her hand on my forehead and felt my temperature.

"You don't feel very warm.." She observed cautiously. "But you do look pale." She frowned and bit her lip. I felt ashamed and guilty but it was for the greater good.

"Hey, my mom has a cot upstairs so if Georgia sudden illness doesn't get better, she can rest on the cot upstairs." Keith smirked at me with a twinkle in his eyes. Dang it! My mother was already thanking Keith for his generosity.

We all buckled up in the old green junk machine and Momma drove with darling, helpful Keith to Aunt Rachie's house. They kept the topic to family stories ("Jeannie burnt the turkey, remember?") and I felt a pang of annoyance for being left out. After Momma decided to marry a coloured man, Granddaddy disowned her and she didn't get invited much to family get togethers. I sat sulking in the back seat, feeling left out and annoyed at Keith for messing up my plan.

The car drew nearer and nearer to our location and a feeling of dread grow in my stomach. Keith the gentleman, the perfect nephew, opened the doors for Momma and me. He held out a hand for me which I did not take. Hmph. He led us up to the door of his house and I reached out to ring the doorbell.

"Relax," Keith grinned, "the door's always unlocked." I gave my mother a look that she avoided. Even I knew that leaving your door unlocked is stupid and I'm only twelve years old. Keith swung the rusty door open and sauntered in. He greeted all his friends who were sprawled around the room.

I breathed in quickly. His friends were the rest of those mean guys! They had hard looks to them and greasy hair. Definitely not the people I want to mess with, one of them even had a tattoo! I backed up against the wall while my mother, Chatty Cathy, was totally at ease talking to all of them, even teasing them about school and girls. By now, I was actually feeling sick to my stomach. I know this kind of people. They wouldn't see past my curly hair and brown skin.

Momma turned to me and smiled encouragingly. "Y'all, this is my daughter, Georgia Brennan." They didn't greet me but stared at me in shock like I was a display at a museum.

I turned around and promptly threw up my lunch on Keith's leather boots.


	5. Pulling it Together

I wish the earth would swallow me up.

I wish the earth would swallow me up.

I wish the earth would swallow me up.

I wish the earth would swallow me up.

I remember once when I was younger and we lived in Jacksonville. I honestly can't speak for what Momma was thinking, Jacksonville is the most racist town I ever been in. There were actually black and white sides of the city. I never felt more undecided in my whole life. Did I belong to the black crowd or the white one? I suppose it didn't really bother, none of them would have me. I was like the last piece of fruit in a bowl. Nobody wanted me. At school I would get ridiculed, for my mother or my background, either one. I think I was about seven years old. A little black boy was sitting all by himself at a lunch table, with his head bent over. I felt lonely and pulled up a plastic chair as to join her. Before then, I had never had a best friend or even a friend. On my birthdays, it was just Momma and me. She tried to keep them cheerful, I know. Momma acted like my best friend but even Momma couldn't replace that hole in my heart from those looks the other kids gave me when I walked by. I sat down beside that little black boy and started to talk to him.

"Friendships start with a friendly hello," Momma always told me. I started with hello and the rest came easily, I found I could tell Jerome anything. I told him things I never told anyone else before. How Carl broke Momma's jaw last year. How sometimes I had to do my homework in a diner. How Momma never spoke to me about my father. We sat there for almost two hours, me pouring my soul out to this small boy, and him, listening attentively, nodding when needed. I invited him to come over for dinner. Dinner was a small event. Just Momma, me and Jerome. Momma tried so hard, I know she did. We spent all afternoon planning out whether we should eat green beans or corn, rice or grits. Jerome came in with a wobbly smile and his fuzzy hair and Momma melted. He was my first friend. Momma said all the right things to Jerome, made him smile.

Everything was going wonderfully, until desert. My mother's new boyfriend, Niall stormed in the front door. He stared hard at Jerome and me. I had met him only once before but we didn't speak much. A heavy silence hung upon us and I could tell Momma noticed it as well. Niall didn't move. He just stood there, acting like Jerome commited a felony for being in the same room as us. After five minutes I could tell that Jerome was at his breaking point.

Tears of shame filled his eyes . I quickly looked to Momma, wanting her to do something. Momma didn't even look up but her face was burning. A slow, fat tear dripped down the tip of his chocolate coloured nose and I felt an embaressment deep down. It was so humiliating that I almost cried.

I was feeling the same way now. Everyone was facing me, except for Keith who had taken off his boots and started cursing quietly. There was a boy on the couch with white hair and a scowl on his face. He had a cold expression and was lighting a cigarette, without taking his hard gaze off of my face. I felt like his stare was burning my skin, I was sure that my face wasn't white anymore. I broke the staring contest and looked away from those frightening blue eyes. He blew smoke in my direction, as if to mock me.

Momma started fussing over me and I let her lead me away to the bathroom. The whole way there she was whispering words of comfort, like I do to her when boyfriend-du-jour leaves. I could feel tears building up behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. I sniffed and wiped my nose. Momma gently nudged me in the bathroom and shut the door, waiting outside. I looked in the mirror and the tears really started.

I looked awful. My skin was pale with two bright red circles on my nose that stood out like chrisymas lights. My nose was pink too and my eyes looked like Niagara Falls. And my hair! I started to cry again, leaning against the sink.

I breathed in deeply though. Slowly I counted to ten in my head and though of happy thoughts. In an hour, I would be home and this nightmarish reality would end. Pulling it together, I washed my face, getting ready of the foundation and tear streaks. My skin was pink and blotchy but it was a definite improvement. I pulled my hair out of its ponytail, to frame my face. I guess that was as good as it would get. I could smell mashed potatoes and pork roast. Taking one final look in the mirror, I smiled confidently and smoothed down my hair. It was time to face the music.

**A/N: that's all for now folks! I feel pretty proud, five chapters in one day! Whootwhoot! Thanks to all my reviewers: ****benignmilitancy****, miniartis****t,and of course ****me****! Yes, I review my own stories, don't hate! I'd love it if you inboxed me telling me what you think. ****Read and review please****! **

**I kind of droned on in this chappie, I know. And I introduced Dally. He's the blond boy if you didn't catch on. I think Jerome was the cutest idea ever! :)**


	6. An Apology

Coming back to the dining room was like returning to a building you burned down. I kept my eyes on my seat, not looking at anyone else. I could tell that they were looking at me though. I pulled out my wooden chair and sat down on it quickly. Momma was beside me and patted my hand lovingly like mothers do. On my other side was Keith, completely ignoring me. She inclined her head towards Keith, raising her eyebrows. I got the message.

"And then I said 'Because you're the only ten I see, babe!'" Keith guffawed loudly as he narrated his story. I fought the urge to roll my eyes at his stupid pick-up line and hesitatingly tapped his elbow. I bit down on my bottom lip as he turned to face me.

"Keith, I apologize," I muttered. His eyes grew wide and he grinned mischievously. He put a hand behind his ear indicating that he didn't hear me. On his other side there was the blond boy. He snickered at Keith's annoying tactics. I narrowed my eyes at Keith and turned back to my dinner, which didn't look so good anymore.

What if Keith was actually angry with me? I didn't do it on purpose, but what if he thought I did? I picked around my plate. Momma was so happy here, with Aunt Rachie and Keith, what if I took that happiness away? Keith didn't act upset for his boots but I'm certain his mother won't like cleaning it off the carpet. Oh no. If I wrecked the chances of ever coming here for dinner again, I'm going to have to fix them!

I was so zoned out that I didn't even hear Aunt Rachie start up a conversation about school. I would make this up to Keith and show him that I ain't some trash that you puke on your boots and not apologize. I was going to apologize profoundly and make him see that I'm truly sorry. Well, at least I'm truly sorry if Momma gets the cold shoulder from Aunt Rachie. I cleared my throat and stood up. A little too fast. The chair fell out from under me and I tripped over it, landing under the circular table and pulling the table cloth down with me.

And explosion of laughter was ringing in my ears. I just wanted to pull the table cloth over my head and never come back again. I sat under the table, hiding in the shadows. The fold of the table cloth was lifted.

"Boo." Oh great, it was Keith. I tried looking away as I blinked back tears for the second time that night. I had string beans stuck in my hair and gravy up on the front of my dress. Everything was going horribly. I wished this was a fairytale.

I faintly recall learning how to read 'Cinderella' when I was about five years old. Every day I would walk myself to the public library when Momma was at the diner. I would plop down on a plastic chair and be in heaven. I loved the way that in books and stories, anything you want could happen. I couldn't read yet, but I would just absorb the beauty of the illustrations. The pages would come to life and for forty-five minutes a day, I would forget that Momma couldn't pay the rent or that I ain't got no father. I could be a princess, running away with a forbidden lover. My favourite story was Cinderella. I would take it out every time and see from the picture how Cinderella would keep her head up even though her family was terrible. One day I was looking at the words and it just clicked in my head. 'C-I-N-D-E-R' Cinder, 'E-L-LA' ella. I found it amazing! I would go back everyday and sound out a new word in my head from each page. I had gotten to the part when Cinderella ran outside crying. I ran home to tell my mother all this time I had been reading a real book. Heart racing, hair flying I ran up the driveway and saw the green junk machine, all packed and ready to leave. I never disliked my mother more in my whole life.

So I never told her about the Cinderella story. The next day, before we had left, I snuck back to the library. I felt such a longing in my soul, burning through my chest to grab the book and feel the crisp thick pages in my fingers and smell that new book smell.

I'm ashamed to say it but when the librarian turned around I had shoved the forbidden book up my sweater. I left the library feeling guilty and conflicted. To this day I haven't gotten opened the stolen book. I can't.

I wish that I was Cinderella and that my fairy godmother would lean down swish her wand and transform me into something that I'm not. Keith was still grinning at me. He reached out his big, calloused hand to pull me up to my feet. Everyone was in the bathroom washing out the flying food that had landed in their hair or in the kitchen getting leftovers to eat.

"Keith?" I whispered, looking down at my hands. "I'm real sorry about your boots. And about your food." I was practically swallowing my tears now and sniffed into the backs of my hands. Keith studied me for a minute, seriously.

His face broke into a smile. "Well, shoot. Those boots was getting old anyways! And don't worry about them food. Ma's just aching to feed y'all more anyways. We just gonna skip to desert is all." He swung his arm over my shoulder good naturedly and steered me towards the kitchen.

Momma was talking animatedly to a big strong man over by the fridge. He looked scary with muscles bulging out of his shirt and being taller than a grizzly bear, I reckon. He towered over little Momma. I guess I was still staring because Keith chuckled.

"It's rude to stare you know" Keith stated.

"I- I was just- I mean-" I stammered pulling my gaze away from that giant man and looking at Keith. "He's huge!"

Keith turned to the boy beside him. He was a bit older than me with smooth long red-brown hair. He didn't look dangerous but he still scared me with his greasy hair and leather jacket. I shuddered involuntarily. Keith introduced us somewhat politely. I found out that the boy's name was Ponyboy. After we spoke for a few minutes, I wasn't scared anymore. Ponyboy still looked mean and hard but he wasn't really. We spoke about school and books we'd both read. I found out that he was two years older than me and in highschool. He didn't seem to have any problem with my skin colour even though one of the other boys clearly did.

The one with the white-ish hair had been giving me dirty looks all night. When we made eye contact he stabbed his fork into his cake and glared menacingly at me. I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning. Ponyboy followed my gaze and frowned.

I didn't have a chance to catch tattoo guy's name but I would remember that hard stare anywhere. At that moment Momma decided that we ought to get on home. Momma offered to drive Mr. Muscles home. His name was actually Darrel. He was Ponyboy's brother so he couldn't be so bad. Momma seemed to like him. I gave him a sharp look before piling into the Velvo. I just don't like Momma's boyfriends.

**A/N The boy with the white hair is Dally, if you didn't cotton on. I quite like Keith in this chappie:)**

**I think I'll keep having Georgia call him Keith though.**


	7. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

**I think I should clear some things up.**

**Ponyboy and Georgia will never be an item. They will be friends but nothing more.**

**The "tattoo guy" refers to Dallas still. I'm not sure if he has a tattoo but in this story he will :]**

**Please continue to read and review,**

**Love you guys!**

**Xoxo nicollerz**

**I'll put up a new chappie tomorrow**


	8. As I Lay Me Down To Sleep

After dropping off Ponyboy and Darrel at home, I leaned towards the side of the car, curling up on my back. The car ain't been cleaned in a while so my feet were resting on some old burger wrappers. I looked out the window at the starry sky. It looked like something that one of those Vincent Van Goughs would draw. The contrast of the midnight sky and the bright, white stars made me feel warm inside. I ain't ever seen stars shine this bright in Chicago. I wish this moment could stay forever. All the way home, I wished on stars in my head. I don't believe in wish fairies or nothing but I like to think that beyond the stars there is something more, that listens to people all over. Momma used to send me to Sunday school when she had morning shifts on the weekend. We ain't religious or nothing, but my mother couldn't afford to send me to daycare with the other kids.

I thought that the faith was fascinating. I never thought of it before then. But I mean it made sense, that there was someone up there watching over me. We must have come from somewhere, right? What I liked the most was that those church coordinators weren't racist to me. I know they knew what I was; they'd seen Momma drop me off. I was treated like them other kids, black and white alike.

That don't mean that they treated me the same though. One little white boy would always pull my hair and call me things like 'Bumblebee' or 'Cocoa Puff'. I would get so mad at that boy but I couldn't do nothing. I would pray during service for God to come down and strike that little boy who did me wrong. I would pray so hard. We were driving home from the chapel in the same old junk machine and I told Momma how I prayed for that little boy to catch a plague. Momma pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car. Her eyes were sad and solemn.

"Momma?" I whispered, "Are you sad?" Momma breathed in deeply and wiped her eyes. I patted the hand like she does to me.

She turned to me with pink eyes and a blotchy face. "Don't you ever, wish evil upon people Georgia. That little boy wasn't born hateful. You should pray for him, for God to open his eyes."

I understand what she meant. I didn't return to that Sunday school but I didn't have to. Every night I would pray for that little boy. I wonder what ever happened to him. Momma doesn't know that I pray before I sleep. I think she would disapprove. Momma says that life on earth is complicated enough with life after earth.

When we got home I brushed my teeth with baking soda since we still didn't go shopping for the essentials. I wrinkled up my nose at the taste and almost choked but I kept up a neutral face because Momma wasn't complaining. She can be strong like that. I looked in the mirror at her face. Momma was only just turning twenty-seven but she looked as tired as someone who is at least thirty. She had dark circles under her eyes and a worn-out expression. I decided that I would make breakfast in bed for her tomorrow. She deserves it.

Momma only tells me snippets about my father. She says that when she told him that she was pregnant, she was fourteen years old. He smiled real nicely though and said that he would help her raise the baby even though it was illegal to have interracial marriages in Texas. Momma said she was real happy when he told her he would stay with her. Momma wanted to drop out of high school, but Father was real smart, he was going to go far in life. Momma got this far away, dreamy look on her face when she spoke about their future together. Then she would quickly say how a year later, right after I was born, he got hit by a car while he was walking home.

She would look away from me real quick and blink real hard like she was trying to get the picture out of her head. I would hug her like there was no tomorrow and she'd cry on my shoulder.

I kissed Momma goodnight and walked down the dark hallway to my bedroom. The walls were unpainted and bear but I liked it anyways. I switched off the light so that the only light shone from through the window. It had an eerie blue glow to it. I slipped off my shoes and kneeled before my bed.

"Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the lord my soul to keep,

If I die before I wake,

I pray the lord my soul to take." I folded my hands up and closed my eyes. I don't always have a specific prayer I say, I just think in my head and God can hear me. Mostly, I like to think that my father's up there listening, so even if I can't see him or hear him, he can hear and see me.

I told him about how Keith started to be nice to me and how I was worried that the other kids at school wouldn't accept me. I mostly talked about Momma though and how she acted around Darrel. I was worried that Darrel would become Momma's new boyfriend and replace my father. I'd rather that he's a jerk than being so nice that Momma marries him.

I unfolded my hands and crawled under my thin sheet, still wearing the dirty dress that I wore to dinner. As I looked up at the stars twinkling down at me, I've never felt the prescence of my father stronger. It was like we had a connection and he was just behind the bright, white stars listening to my prayers and problems.


	9. Breakfast Surprises

Some people wake up in the morning happy and energetic. They bound out of bed and feel the sun's rays on their face. I have never done this. When I was a little baby, my mother said that she could see my eyes flutter and that's how she knew I was awake. I just need time in the mornings. Time to lie with my eyes shut and breathe in. I feel this calming sensation swoop over me and take hold of my soul. I just feel so in control of my life lying there tangled in sheets, feeling sun sweep through the windows and shine over me, so that I see a hazy orange with my eyes shut. All good things come to an end. So after lying there, reflecting on the previous night, I get out of bed, hoping to have beaten Momma in waking up.

I remembered that I'm still wearing the dirty dress from last night and I decide to change it for a nicer alternative. I fingered my new lace nightgown, going over the detailed lace. I know that it belonged to someone before me, but it was still nice. It was new to me. I twirled it around like I was dancing with it. The way that the hem stopped at right below my knee and fit me just right, made me feel like a beauty queen. When I wore it it made me feel like someone special. Someone like Momma. I waltzed down the hall, to the bathroom. I quietly shut the door, as to not disturb Momma, and looked in the mirror.

Who was I kidding? Georgia Brennan was still looking back at me, with too curly hair and too big lips. I looked away. For a moment there, I felt special. But I learned long ago that I'm not. I grabbed my toothbrush off of the little pile of newspaper that Momma set up last night and started to brush my teeth vigorously, as if I was brushing all those people that ever did me wrong. _Brush, Brush! _That was for the teacher who didn't let me eat lunch with the other children for fear of disease from me. I scrunched up my face and brushed even harder, driven by my anger. _Brush, Brush! _That was for that blond haired boy, blowing smoke in my face to frighten me. I pushed so hard that I could hear the toothbrush squeaking against my teeth. _Brush, Brush! _That was for Granddaddy. I stopped there and spat out my spit and baking soda in the sink. It looked like a sick pinkish colour. I barred my teeth and looked in the dusty mirror. I had brushed my bottom gums so hard that there were little cuts on them. I read somewhere that salt is supposed to help cuts. I looked at the label of the baking soda. Hmm… Sodium. That's sort of like salt.

I shook out about a teaspoon of baking soda into a cup and filled it with water. I had no spoon so I stirred it with one of my fingers. It looked like a whirlwind of baking soda before it finally dissolved together. I shut my eyes and poured the solution into my mouth. I spat it out almost right away. It tasted awful! I rinsed my mouth out a few times, making faces and trying to get the taste out of my mouth. When I was satisfied, I headed downstairs to make breakfast.

We didn't have much food yet, since we haven't gone shopping. All we had was instant coffee that my mother insisted on bringing everywhere. 'Coffee is an essential to the human race,' she always joked when I questioned her caffeine choice. I boiled water in an old, rusty tea kettle and waited for the kettle to start whistling.

I searched through all the cupboards for some sign of edible food. The only food I found was an old half eaten bagel. I wrinkled my nose and ran outside to throw in the garbage. It was such a warm day. The leaves were blowing as if to warn autumn's arrival and the sun was shining brightly. I hate the expression 'Not a cloud in the sky'. Clouds in the sky make things interesting. I love to just stare up at the sky and think of what they look like. Or even turning around staring up at them and watching them change shapes. I threw the old bagel in the garbage bin and looked up. I could see a cloud that looked like an elephant and another that looked like a tomato. I turned my head around and now the elephant looked like a worm crawling out of an apple. I felt so absorbed that I didn't notice the paperboy come up and drop the newspaper in a pile of weeds near the front of the house. He whistled at me and said something I'd rather not repeat. I blushed bright red and became aware that I was still wearing my night things. I turned around and ran back up the short drive to get inside the house.

The kettle I'd put out with boiling water was whistling and I reached out to switch it off. Now that I had boiled water, I just needed a cup to put it in. I rummaged through Momma's backpack and to find her favourite mug, a purple one I had painted for Mother's Day a few years back. I dug around a couple almost empty bottles of perfume and some framed photographs. I felt my way around a pack of thick paper bound together by a string. I pulled it out and saw that my mother had been corresponding with someone.

At that moment she came downstairs, looking all fresh after a shower. Her eyes widened when she saw those letters and she tried to reach forward to grab them from me. I let her take them but not before I saw the name of the correspondent written on the front of the envelope in chicken scrawl messy writing.

Momma had been writing to Lou. Lou as in Nathan's father. Lou as in Lou that had walked out on Momma when she needed him most.


	10. Second Thoughts and Rescues

We stood there, for a few minutes, neither one of us daring to breath. I couldn't believe this. I looked at the letters again; maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. No, clear as day. L-O-U. I think I must have been staring because my mother reached out a thin arm and grabbed the thick pack of letters out of my grip.

How could she? How could she do this to herself? To us? She knows what Lou's done. He didn't give a damn about either of us. Or about Nathan. Momma anxiously stuffed the letters back in to her bag and turned to face me. She gave me this look, like she was begging for my forgiveness and blessing. I still didn't speak to her. How could she be so stupid? I know she can see that Lou's a jerk, why is she doing this? We stared at each other. Me, shooting daggers through my eyes, and her, looking sheepish and flushed. I was daring her to speak, break the silence. To explain herself.

She cleared her throat. "Georgia, it's not—"

I cut her off very suddenly. "No, Momma! I hope it's not what it seems! Because it seems like you've been Lou's little pen pal this whole time! Momma you know what he did to us! Or do you forget? You don't need him Momma, you don't!" I was so angry that my hands were shaking. I could feel my face heating up and my teeth clenching together. I reckon I ain't ever been so angry in my whole life. I wanted to just reach out and slap her face, as hard as I could. Momma sobbed into her hands, with tears leaking out the sides of her fingers.

"Please Georgie," She tried to use my special nickname. "Please Georgie, you can't imagine what it's like for me, being all alone at age twenty-six. I just want to find someone to spend my life with." She sniffled very loudly and looked at me pleadingly. Like she expected me to sympathize with her.

"NO! Don't you dare ask me for sympathy! Don't you dare! You don't know what it's like, to go to school, where all the other kids won't even look at you, scared that your skin colour alone will pass along illness and shame." I was crying now too and I couldn't tell what I was saying. A frenzy of words popped out of my mouth. "You had my father! Not for long but you had him! You don't need anyone else!"

My mother looked angry now too. We ain't ever fought like this before. Like sending knives through each other's heart, in places we knew would hurt the most. Momma threw her hands in the air and looked at me exasperatedly. She let out a mad laugh and I was suddenly scared. "Georgia, the only man that really loved me is a dead nigger."

I became overcome with anger. I was literally seeing red. I couldn't hear my mother yelling apologies and begging for forgiveness. I grabbed the first thing I saw, her old favourite mug and smashed it on the ground into a million pieces. The clay shattered on the floor, and I stood there, chest heaving. I could taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air. I felt like I was spinning out of control. My mother had the decency not to look at me, and instead started to pick up pieces of the broken mug that I had once given to her as a gift.

I rushed outside, unable to deal with my emotions anymore. My face was flushed and I felt cold and light headed. I was still wearing my night gown with lace. I absent mindedly fingered the pattern on the sleeve and started to hum to myself as I briskly walked down the streets. I hummed an old lullaby that my mother used to sing to me when I was younger and I couldn't fall asleep at night. I would toddle out the hall to her bedroom and knock on the door lightly, in case she had company staying over. She would come out and grab me in the tightest, warmest bear hug so that I'd be able to smell her perfume samples that she'd taken from magazines. She would rock me back and forth like I was her littlest baby.

"I love you forever,

I love you for always,

As long as I'm living,

My baby you'll be," She would sing in a light, clear voice until I would fall asleep in her arms. Then, she would carry me back to my bed and tuck me in. My nightmares would disappear.

I walked by a house with kid's toys on the driveway. There was chalk that someone had left out and a couple of bikes. Impulsively, I reached out and stroked the rusty red handlebar of an old bicycle. Without thinking I just hopped on the worn out seat and started pedaling. I pedaled harder and harder with my hair blowing in the wind behind me. The cool early morning air cooled me down and I started to relax. I could see and hear people shouting after me as I rode through red lights and zoomed in front of cars like I was invincible. I imagine how silly I must have looked, with my nightgown, now stained with dirt and flying mud. I grew tired though and my pedalling eventually slowed to a stop. I slid my leg over the much too high bike seat and fell on the sidewalk. The knee of my night gown ripped and my knee skimmed the sidewalk, leaving a bloody mark.

Dang it. I threw the bike on the sidewalk and walked slowly to an open field. My muscles were aching from pedaling so hard and I was starting to see spots in my vision. I fell back into the long swaying grass and looked up at the sky for the second time that morning, appreciating the sky which looked like a blue canvas with smudges of clouds decorating it. The grass swayed with the wind around me and tickled my arms like feathers. I shut my eyes. How long had I been gone? I wonder if Momma's looking for me. I pouted sullenly. I hoped she was looking for me. I hoped that I was making her frantic with worry, that she was having a freak attack. She deserved it. How dare she speak about my father like that. He had been so good to her. Wanting to marry her, even though Granddaddy and the state disapproved. Better than Niall, Lou, Carl or Willis or any of Momma's other boyfriends. I know what people say about her. I can hear the older kids at school always talking about her, calling her white trash and a floozy. They say men only want her for one thing. I'm not a child. I know what they're talking about; I just don't like to think about it. I've always believed that my mother is above what they call her. Now I'm having second thoughts.

Just then a beat up truck rolled up to the sidewalk and a muscular body stepped out.

"There you are, kid! You need a ride?" He glanced at the stolen bike. "Or will you be riding this bike?" I groaned and slapped my forehead. Great. Darrel had come to pick me up.


	11. Frightening Encounter

Darrel turned and smiled awkwardly at me like there was something funny about the situation. Yeah, real funny. I was lying in some grass wearing a dirty night gown. Real funny, Darrel. He held out a big white hand to pull me off the grass that I didn't accept it. Acting like I had no clue he was trying to help, I pushed myself off of the ground with my hands. I attempted to clean my night dress a bit by wiping off the dirt and mu, but only succeeded in mushing it into the fabric. I sighed and pushed a stray piece of hair out of my face. Darrel stood there silently, studying me and I marched to his old rickety truck. I opened the back door and climbed in gingerly. Darrel came around and sat in the faded driver's seat.

He patted the front seat beside him. "You know, you could just come up and sit beside me." I refused to meet his eyes. As if. I wasn't going to go sitting right up beside him like was friends or something.

"I'd rather not, Mr. Curtis," I sniffed. "You probably wouldn't want to sit beside a nigra." I lowered my gaze and looked at my feet. They were dark brown from mud and had green grass stains. I wrinkled my nose. I definetly had to shower when I got home. Darrel coughed awkwardly and I could see he was getting uncomfortable. Good. That's the way it should be. He rubbed the back of his red neck and stared straight ahead at the bumpy road. We were close to my house now.

I wonder if Momma had sent him to look for me. That's just like her. Calling up the first single guy on the block she meets and inviting him to rescue her on a white horse. I rolled my eyes. Darrel cleared his throat. I looked at him in the cracked rearview mirror.

"You don't have to call me Mr. Curtis. Heck, that's my Pa's name. Call me Darrel," He looked at me for my acceptance. I already called him Darrel in my head, but he doesn't know that. Where was his Pa anyways? With some young airhead? Hooked on some freak weed? I wasn't going to ask or nothing, just curious since Ponyboy didn't mention his mother either.

"Given the circumstances, Mr. Curtis, I think it's best that I address you formally," I told him in my coldest voice I could muster. He raised his eyebrows and turned back to the road muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'Ice Queen'. Hmph. We pulled into the short driveway and I could see Momma standing there crying into a hankercheif. Wait a minut. We don't own any hankercheifs. Momma said that she did enough laundry and to just use tissues. I rolled my eyes. It had to be Darrel's. He unbuckled his seatbelt and I did the same. We stepped out of the Ford and Momma ran to hug me.

"Oh Georgie! Don't ever do that again! I'm so sorry!" She was blubbering and I felt real embaressed since Darrel was watching the whole thing. She kissed the top of my head repeatedly. "It was all just a misunderstanding! I was going to tell you all about the letters later! I swear it!" I had thought she meant that she was sorry about speaking to Lou. I was wrong. She wasn't sorry for what she had done, but for getting caught by me. I pulled away from her embrace and stalked up into my room. I looked out the window and could see her thanking Darrel finding me. She smushed against him in a hug. Darrel's eyes lit up. Momma pulled away, still dabbing at her eyes and walked back into the house. Darrel turned and watched as she stepped over a rock with an awestruck expression on his face, before heading back into his rinky dinky truck. I rolled my eyes. What a freako. I pulled a green dress out of my suitcase and threw it over my head. I ran a brush through my impossible hair and headed out the hallway.

I walked down the stairs slowly, as if to not draw attention to myself. Moma had the old radio blearing some songs that I recognized as Billy Grant Stewart. She picked up a soapy cup from the sink and sang into it.

"But baby, no baby, the grass ain't ever greener!" She wailed into the soap sudded cup. I rolled my eyes again. Momma was obsessed with listening to music when she worked. I usually didn't mind but this was getting on my nerves. I just had to get out. I shouted over the noise and waved my arms to get Momma's attention. She looked over at me and I signaled that I was going outside.

"Georgia, we don't know anyone here," She said puzzled. Right. Dang it.

"Uh, I'm going to go to—" I thought quickly. "To Keith and Aunt Rachie's place." Momma nodded happily and turned back Billy Grant Stewart so loud that I could feel the vibrations coming off the walls as I headed out the door, trying to sjake off my headache. I didn't actually where Keith and Aunt Rachie lived but I knew the general direction; I have a pretty good sense of direction. I kept walking and humming an old tune to myself. I thought a bit about Lou and wondered where he was now. I didn't like Darrel but I'd rather him than Lou. I imaingined mymother walking down the aisle beaming and happiest I've ever seen her. Lou didn't fit in the picture somehow. I could picture him drunk in the streets or in an old bar smoking some grass. But not with my mother. I shuddered at the thought.

I snapped out of my thoughts and saw Keith's and Auntie's house up ahead. I walked up and was about to just walk in since their door was unlocked. My manners got the best of me though, and I rang the doorbell instead and walked patiently. When no one answered I knocked a little harder and peered in the window.

"They ain't home," growled a voice behind me. I whirled around and saw the scary tattooed boy standing on the sidewalk, with his arms folded menacingly. I gulped. I didn't want to strike up a conversation with this character. I stepped forward tentively.

"When will they, er, be back, Mister?" I asked meekly. I could feel my face turning red and my hands trembling slightly. The boy took a slow drag on a cigarette he had lit casually. The smoke danced around the warm air like a carefree bird. He took another puff of smoke before answering my question.

"Hell if I know," He muttured. "Two-Bit could be anywhere and his Ma's at work." Two-Bit? Keith's cat? I scratched my head and felt confused.

"Two-Bit?" I repeated stupidly. What about Keith? Tatto guy chuckled and raised an eyebrow. He took another puff of smoke lazily.

"Sorry, I mean _Keith_," He smirked before turning away and sautering down the cracked sidewalk. I stared after him like an idiot. Keith goes by Two-Bit? Huh. To each his own, I suppose. I started back down the sidewalk going the opposite direction as tattoo guy. I vaguely noticed that my hands were still shaking slightly. Funny, the effect that some people have.


	12. Pounding At The Door

I became aware of an older man watching me from across the street. I acted real casual but my skin was prickling; I could feel his eyes watching me as I slowly sat down in Keith's yard bringing my knees up to my chest. The man lay sprawled on a wooden lawn chair, his eyes following my every move. He took a long swig of beer from his bottle and wiped his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. I became aware that we were the only people outside on the street. I got frightened, this guy could just stand up and come over, there wasn't anything stopping him, Keith's yard didn't even have a fence. His small beady eyes followed me as I inched closer to the door, so that I was sitting on the front porch. I started to pray in my head as time went on and I had no chance but to stay put. Please God, I thought frantically, please help me. I crossed my fingers and folded my hands together behind my back. Father, if you can hear me, help me please. The man stood up off his lawn chair now and was heading towards me, cracking his knuckle. He turned into a full run up the driveway, and I scampered away as fast as I could. I didn't have much time; his legs were longer than mine. I could hear his boots hitting the ground beside as I turned the doorknob and pushed it open, falling in Auntie and Keith's home. I slammed it behind and turned all the locks, my fingers fumbling and clammy. I leaned against the wall panting, wet with perspiration. I could feel the door thump as he pounded on it and tried not to cry out in fright. I folded my clammy hands together and said frantic, jumbled up prayers in my head. God, please Father! Hear me please! I need help! I scrunched my eyes shut, like as if I could send telepathic messages to my father.

I don't know how long I was sitting there, shaking all over. The knocked slowed down after a while, and then eventually ceased to a stop. A peaceful silence resigned over the empty house, broken by the sound of my heavy breathing and occasional sniffles. A few minutes passed and I remained there still. I felt the knob turn above my head; the door was opening! Silent tears streamed down my face and I wiped them away angrily. There was a thump, and the sound of someone having ran into the wooden door. I could hear confused cussing. I frowned, was the man really that drunk?

A familiar voice came from the other side of the doorway. "Hello? Who's there? I got a knife!" He shouted threatingly. I sighed in relief, almost laughing. It was only Keith, the man had really gone. I hoisted myself up with my hands and looked out the door window. I must have been there a while; the sun was setting and the sky was a fiery orange. My gaze averted to Keith who was staring at me, puzzled. I pulled open the door and let him in. He squinted as he saw me, as if he wasn't believing his eyes.

"Georgia? What're you doin' here?" He scratched his head. "Did Ma invite you over? She ain't here, she's at work…" His voice trailed off as he took in my appearance, noticing for the first time. He whistled low in astonishment. I self consciously smoothed out my dress and patted my hair down. "Glory! What happenend to you?" I played with the sleeve of my dress.

"It's a long story," I explained, even though it wasn't, not really. "I came and no one was here so I decided to wait inside for y'all to get back, since when is that a sin?" I lie pretty easily, the only give away was that my mouth twitches when I lie. Keith looked at me for a moment and pursed his lips.

"I don't believe you," He broke through the silence finally. I squirmed under his gaze. "You're lying to me." He scatched at his chin. I put up my best poker face which I reckon wasn't that good because Keith merely cocked an eyebrow at me. The tension was unbelievable.

"Okay, there was this scary man and he was staring at me." Keith scoffed at me. "No, that ain't all. He ran after me to your yard and tried to get in the house after I had locked the doors! I was so scared Keith…" He looked concerened now, with his eyebrows bunched together in between his eyes. I blinked rapidly, still shaken after the experience. I looked at Keith once mpre and he nodded thoughtfully. I knew that he had believed me. He turned towards an old worn out couch and beckoned for me to follow. I did. I collapsed on the side of the couch and looked at him, to see what he thought of my situation.

"I think maybe you aren't used to the Tulsa heat," Keith said kindly. "I reckon your mind is playin' tricks on you, is all. You want some water?" I shook my head and groaned. He didn't understand! I tried to explain to him once more. How there was a man next door who followed me and tried to get inside. He merely held up a hand as if to stop me and led me to his kitchen. He opened several cupboards looking for a glass to give me. He poured me a glass of water and listened to me once again give the description of man he didn't think I saw. I was going through it for what seemed like the fifth time when the door swung open. Keith gave me a look that said 'stay put' and went to go greet whoever it was. I shook my glass a bit, watching the water move around and wondered what It would be like to go scuba diving. There was a rich girl in my class once, that spoke of how her and her family went on a big ship somewhere and swam in water with fish. I wished I could do that. I sloshed that water around some more. I could hear bits and pieces of conversation here and there.

"…drunk tonight, Dal!" I could hear Keith's laughter and rolled my eyes. Nothing funny about drinking. I tapped the wooden tabletop and hummed in my head while I waited. One part of the conversation caught my attention.

"… then she fell backwards and the food flew everywhere!" I could hear them all roar with laughter and gripped my glass tighter. Keith popped his head in the kitchen.

"Georgie," I frowned at Keith's use of my mother's pet name for me. "Have you met Dal and Tim?" Dal stepped out of the shadows and I squeezed the glass even more tightly as I recognized his white-blonde hair and the tattoo of a cross on his upper arm. He made no impression that he knew I was there; he ignored me as he lit another cigarette. Fine by me. "And this is Timothy." Keith introduced. Somewhere from the living room a newpaper flew in and hit the back of Keith's head. Another head peeped in the kitchen and I was certain that I almost cracked the glass I was holding. Tim was the guy that tried to get in!


	13. Barcardi 151

_A/N: Barcardi is a really strong alcohol (151 proof, 75%), I didn't make it up. Don't try to drink it, a couple of shots can make you forget yourself. I don't drink, but I did my research to make this seem as real as possible.I don't own the outsiders or any of their characters._

Tim gave no indication that he even recognized me from earlier. He gave me a curt nod and I pretended to be absorbed in my water. Keith had already moved on, talking about some party that he wanted to go to. Pretty soon, Keith, Dal and Timothy were all laughing together while I sat there, still drinking the same glass of water. I took slow sips, as to prolong having to walk over to the sink. Keith swung open the fridge and pulled out a dark bottle. It smelled gross, I wrinkled my nose. What was that? Dal and Timothy didn't pay Keith any mind while he took a long swig from the bottle and wiped his mouth. He smiled lazily and took another big gulp, whooping loudly. I raised an eyebrow. What was he up to? Whatever he was drinking, seemed to have a pleasing effect on him. Dal and Timothy took out their own cans and bottles. By now I was pretty sure that I knew what they were drinking. Keith made a stupid joke and they all bursted out with laughter, Keith dropped his bottle and it shattered all over the floor. I shrieked and lifted my feet off the ground, pulling them close to my chest. Timothy and Dal staggered outside after a while, still laughing loudly and singing some dirty songs out of tune, making me blush.

Keith slumped against the countertop and I couldn't help but envy him. It's strange to think actually. I was just jealous that for a while, he acted like he had no problems. He was laughing away, like he didn't have a care in the world. I kind of wanted to feel like that too, just for a little while. I whispered Keith's name quietly and he didn't answer. I called him a bit louder.

He stood up, swaying on spot. "Oh, s'you. Wha's goin' on, Georgie? Wha's ap in yo life, righ' now." He slurred incoherently. "Come on, tell ol' Keithy." He chuckled. I could tell he was really out of it, so I decided to put my plan into action. I kindly asked Keith for some water. I walked over to the fridge and filled my cup with some sort of alcohol instead. I contemplated my options and thought, aw heck why not. Momma drinks sometimes and she's fine. All it does is make you little loopy. It's not like it's long term or something. I would have to start sometime anyway, Momma wouldn't be too upset with me. I knew that I was lying to myself, I knew it all along. And I wasn't believing my lies. I just had to remember to keep my mind straight and then it wouldn't be obvious that I had had something to drink. I sniffed whatever it was again and gagged. It smelled… too sweet. Sort of bitter. It couldn't be much worse than medicine. I did a sign of the cross before leaning my head back and dumping the contents of the glass into my open mouth.

I sprayed the contents of my mouth on the countertop and coughed repeatedly into my elbow bnefore leaning over and dry heaving into the sink. It burned the back of my throat, as if I had swallowed flames instead of… What was this anyways? I squinted at the almost faded label of the hakf empty bottle. Barcardi 151, it read. I had never heard of it before. Keith had been drinking something else, beer I think. Something stronger, I guess because he was totally out of it after one bottle. I just wanted to forget some of my worries for a bit. I took another swig of the Barcardi and kept in my mouth this time even though my body's every instinct was screaming to spit it out. I swallowed though and only coughed a bit this time. I thought that smoking for the first time was supposed to make you ill, not drinking. Everybody did it, the only bad thing that came out of it was a little headache when it was over. I finished my glass of Barcardi and stood up. I felt light headed and woozy. Everything was kind of blurry. I held on to my head as it would blow away if I let go. Where did Keith go? I twirled around looking for him. When I spun around the room seemed to blur into a beautiful painting. I sang an old opera I had heard somewhere, imagining that I was Grace Kelly or something. I stopped and giggled. I hadn't made an song dedication yet. Silly me.

I stood and face the window beside the fridge. "This one is going out to you, Papa! I know you can hear me! PAPA!" I shouted up towards the sky. Why wasn't my father answering me? I twirled again. I felt like my stomach didn't stop twirling. I groaned and tried to tun to the sink. The key word here is tried. I felt all the Barcardi come up and I vomited all over the floor. An acid like taste filled my mouth. Keith stirred in his sleep. His eyes widened when he saw the scene before him. He cussed quietly but I didn't even notice.

"Georgie? What did you do?" He was getting angry now. So was I.

"Keeeeith, gust stop it!" I shouted at him. My eyes were seeing things kind of blurry. I blinked several times hoping that it was something that I could just blink away, like a tear or dust in my was running around me in circles. Goodness, he's annoying. "Just stop, stand still! You're making me dizzy." I held out a hand as if to stop him from moving.

He groaned and slapped his forehead. "I'm not moving Georgia. You must be drunk out of your mind, kid." I blinked hard. I wasn't drunk, was I? I started to cry slow tears. I wailed as I sunk to the ground. Momma would be so mad at me! Keith shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable with the situation.

"Keith, that ain't true," I rambled on. " That ain't true! I'm sottaby stober!" I tried to show him how I could walk in a straight line. I ran into the countertop and burst into tears again. "I'm so sick of having to be strong! I wanna be lust jike you, Keith! Ah, no what if Momma comes here? I'm tho angly at her, Keif, so angly." I walked over to the couch in the living room, leaving him in the kitchen.

"What did you drink?" He sounded perplexed. "Beer wouldn't have gotten you so drunk.." He picked up the bottle of Barcardi and groaned. I sleepily leaned on the couch in his living room and shut my eyes.

"I'm tho tired, I juth wanna sleep now." I drifted off to strange dreams with bright colours and imaginary animals.


	14. The Morning After

I woke up with a pounding headache. I groaned and laid there, in the too bright sunlight. Someone had draped a fuzzy brown blanket over me. I hugged it to my chest and breathed in it's scent. It smelled like tobacco and cologne. Definitely not mine. What happened last night? I couldn't remember. I racked my brain for some recollection of ever getting here. I squineted through the bright sunlight and realised that I was at Auntie's and Keith's. But how did I get here? Massaged my temples, the best I could. I had the worst headache ever; it hurt like a mother. I looked at the clock on the wall and yelped. It was one o 'clock! In the afternoon! I bolted of the couch. My stomach sloshed all inside of me and I ran to the washroom as fast as I could. I kneeled over the toilet bowl and let it all out. My vomit burned my throat. I felt terrible. I drudged out of the bathroom slowly, not wanting to upset my stomach. Not before I picked up a trash bin to bring along, just in case. I laid back down on the old couch gingerly and wondered where Keith and Auntie were. I shut my eyes, but didn't fall asleep; the brightness of the sun was keeping my awake. I swore loudly, something I usually don't do.

Just then the front door swung open and Kieth and his other friend came inside. His friend was… Gorgeous. He had bright brown eyes that sparkled like diamonds. His golden hair fell smoothly on his forehead. I looked away before he could notice. Keith grinned when he saw me lying there, like it was some kind of joke.

"How you feelin'?" He asked cheekily.

"I've never been better," I said dryly. Keith laughed loudly and his friend, the model, smiled as well. Did I not get the joke?

"What's so funny? Something happened last night, I must have had a fever or something because I don't remember anything. I just feel awful! My head's pounding and I feel like I wanna puke!" I ranted while Keith and the blondie exchanged looks. I groaned in frustration. What's going on? Keith smiled and threw something at my face. I yelped and caught it before it did any permanent damage. It was a bottle. Alright. I read the label, it was a booze bottle. I handed it back politely, as to not offend his feelings. It was a kind offering but not very thoughtful. I'm only twelve. I don't drink, especially not at one in the afternoon. I gave him an expectant look. He smiled brightly back at me.

"What the hell…" I buried myself in the big blanket. "Keith, please just tell me if there's something funny going on, because I didn't catch the joke. It was real funny to offer me some vodka or rum or whatever. Have you forgotten though? I'm not legal drinking age." I raised an eyebrow at him. Keith's expression remained neutral.

"That didn't stop you last night. Barcardi 151, the strongest drink I've got," He indicated to the bottle. He doesn't think i-? Drank that? I wouldn't ever… I wouldn't, right? I tilted my head upwards, as if the answer was written on the ceiling. I faintly recall, trying a new drink and the burning sensation in my throat. Goddammnit. He was right. I slammed my head into the pillow about twenty times. Keith came and sat down on the edge of the couch. I was so embaressed, I was about to start crying. What would Momma think of me? What would my father have thought.

I guess that my break through was a little obvious because Keith spoke up. "Shoot kid, it ain't nothing. I told Ma that you was feelin' under weather and she told your Ma the same. You ain't gonna get in trouble or nothing. Me and Soda won't tell on you or nothing." So his friend's name was Soda. Soda nodded eagerly, to show that he wouldn't rat me out. I sniffed and my lip trembled pathetically. It wasn't just that my mother would be mad I might, I was mad at myself. Mad, ashamed and humiliated for being so stupid. Stupid enough to make a mistake worthy of my mother. I knew that she had done things like drinking and partying when she was my age. I sniffed again. "You picked a hell of a drink, kid" Keith continued on. "Barcardi? That's the hardest stuff in the house! Even I don't drink that!" I blushed. I guess Barcardi was a lot stronger than beer. Soda whistled real low when he heard of what I had drank.

A vile feeling crept up my throat and I lurched of the couch. I hastly grabbed the garabge can and vomit spewed into it. Keith offered me a tissue, and I took it, wiping my mouth of sprayed puke. Yuck. I needed to go wash up. It was bad enough to have Keith see me like this, but his handsome friend was a whole other story. I excused my self and returned to the bathroom, examining myself in the mirror. Good Lord. I had dark cirles under my eyes and my face was a washed out gray colour. My eyes were the worse though. They stood out against my ashen skin tone. I looked like one of those kids those kids my Momma warned me about. Kids like my cousin, Ponyboy and Soda. Kids that I hoped I would be able to call my friends. I almost forgot about the foul taste in my throat and my pounding headache.


	15. Sometimes it Hurts Instead

_A/N: Alrighty, my science exam got postponed to Monday because of the snow and freezing rain. (YES!) So I originally didn't plan on writing this chappie today but because of Mother Nature (love her), here it is!(Ha ha if you can guess where I got the name Aaron Samuels from! You go Glen Coco!) Review and I'll love you forever : )_

After straightening up as well as I could I joined Keith and Soda in the living room. It was awkward at first because I had known Keith for about two days and had only just met Soda. I liked Soda. Not like liked, but liked enough. I don't even want a boyfriend yet. I had only had a crush on one other boy before. His name was Aaron Samuels. It was last year, when I lived in Chicago. Like I said earlier, Chicago had it's black and white groups and Aaron Samuels happened to be in a prominent white gang. People would talk about him. Calling him dangerous, cruel. I liked him anyways. He had short, clean cut red hair and eyes the colour of sweet honey. I could stare at those eyes forever. I hadn't told any of the black or white girls in my class; they weren't my friends so I had no guarantee that they would keep my secret. I would doodle his name in my school notebook. _Georgia Samuels. Mrs. Aaron Samuels. Georgia Brennan-Samuels. _They all sounded perfect. I had our wedding planned out and everything. I would wear Momma's old wedding dress she had never used and he would be handsome, in a spiffy white suit. It was a wedding from above. If only I had the guts to talk to him.

Aaron Samuels wasn't my friend, but we was in the same homeroom class. I could hear him talk about his life for thirty minutes from Monday to Friday. I learned over the school year that he had an older brother, Charlie, who was in the army. Fighting in 'Nam. When Aaron spoke he sounded real proud. I could detect sadness from behind his voice. It is, of course, an honour to have someone serving the country. When you're at a funeral, looking at another grave, honour doesn't matter that much no more. The only thing that matters, as you watch someone get buried into the ground, is that they are not with us anymore. People die because of other people. Guns don't kill people. It's the people that own the guns that do. Human beings shouldn't kill each other. That is what animals are supposed to do, not us.

A couple of monthes ago, I was graduating from the sixth grade. At my ceremony, I didn't see Aaron anywhere. There wasn't that many kids, at my old school. Maybe one hundred or so kids in my grade. During the ceremony I was smiling as always, for the pictures and waving at Momma. I kept an eye out though, for Aaron to walk through the door, excusing himself for his tardiness. He did come to the graduation though. On the last day of school, Aaron stopped by the school. He was smiling grimly as he waited outside for the last bell to ring, indicating that school was over for the day. The students filed out and his popular friends crowded around him, hugging him and patting his back. They hadn't seen in the time being either. I sat on the front step of the school, watching them reunite and waiting for Momma to come pick me up. I watched him hug them all back. One by one, his friends got picked up by their parents or siblings. Momma was late again. She had to work until four o 'clock on Fridays. School ended at three thirty. The parking lot fully of cars ended up to be half full and then empty. Pretty soon there was just me and an old beat up trailer in the parking lot. And Aaron Samuels. I dared to peek a look at him. He leaned against the opposite wall, cracking his knuckles. He caught me looking at him and stood up, dusting off the butt of his jeans. He casually walked over. I licked my lips nervously and smoothed down my hair. This was Aaron Samuels! Coming to talk to me! Georgia Brennan!

He slumped down beside me and I took in his appearance. His clothes were wrinkled and needed a wash. His face was thinner than when I had last seen him. His eyes had dark circles underneath and were red rimmed and puffy, as if he had been crying recently. I smiled politely at him. He tried to smile back, but it came out more like a grimace.

"Have you ever—" His voice cracked. "Ever lost someone?" He stared at the ground. I felt confused. I thought he had come to ask me to move off of "his" step or to make fun of me.

"Yeah," I spoke up. "My father." He nodded thoughtfully. He looked at me and then looked away blinking heavily and rubbing his nose. Was I crying? I was really confused now.

"My brother's dead," He whispered. I heard him. "Shot down by some chink." He wiped his tears furiously. I didn't bother to tell him that "chinks" are from China, not Vietnam. I patted his back. He grabbed me into a hug, sobbing on my shoulder. My mouth went into an 'O' but I didn't stop him. He let go of me, almost immediately, looking embaressed. He apologized, blushing profusely. I don't know what came over me at that moment there. I held up my hand to stop him. This was my one chance. I had him alone, for once. I pulled him in by the collar and planted one right on his lips. He didn't move away and kissed my back gently. My eyes were wide open with surprise. I shut them quickly, savouring the moment. After about thirty seconds I pulled away, my cheeks flushed with excitement. I opened my mouth to speak, but Aaron cut me off.

"Georgia, I can't do this right now. I like you a lot and I think you're real pretty," My cheeks turned even redder then, if it was even possible. "But we couldn't ever be together." My face flushed again, but with anger this time. So he thought he could just kiss me, and then drop me because of my skin colour?

"So what? I'm black and you're white!" I yelled in his face. "It don't matter!" He actually looked sorry and I almost felt bad. The keyword being almost.

"My dad's in the Klan," He explained quietly. "We could never be anything." A slow tear slipped down my cheek. I was so stupid. It wasn't as if could ever be anything. I ain't stupid, I know what the Klan had done. I read about them burning down black men's homes and shooting their children. Aaron was right. He leaned down and kissed my cheek, before heading in the other direction.

Word had gotten out somehow, because the next day at school everybody was whispering and pointing at me. Did they know? I walked with my head down and ran into something. Or someone. It was a boy I recognized from science class. His eyes flashed with anger as he told me that I knew that I kissed Aaron. He called me a traitor to my own kind and names that would make a street hood blush. He spit on my shoes for good measure before stalking away. I held my books to my chest and started to cry despite my efforts. I ran to the bathroom. Everywhere I looked there were kids leering at me or giving me dirty looks, black and white alike. Words at are spat out at me, looks are thrown my way, and tears prickle my eyes and my nose runs. No matter what skin tone, I still have feelings. I collapsed in a stall sobbing. Momma always told me sometimes it lasts in love, sometimes it hurts instead.

I hadn't kissed anyone since.


	16. What's She Doing Here?

I spoke some more to Keith and Soda. I found out that Soda had a girlfriend named Sandy. When he spoke about her he got this silly grin on his face and would sigh wistfully. It was slightly nauseating. I don't have much patience for couples. Dating seems like more trouble than it's worth. I had seen too many girls rushing to the bathroom stalls with mascara running from their faces. They would moan that he was "the one" and cry onto their friends' shoulders. I'm twelve years old, mind you. It seemed a bit silly. I think it's fine to kiss boys and marry them. It's just incredibly annoying to see the time wasted on boys that want to complicate things. '_No, I want some space.' 'It's not like we were official or nothing.' 'You stress me out.' 'We are not going to work out.' _If some guy had the nerve to say any of those choice phrases to me, I'd never take them back. A maybe exception being Aaron Samuels. He was totally out of my mind though. No looking back on him. No sir.

After a while, Soda suggested that we go to his house. Keith agreed. I bit my lip. Soda seemed nice enough but I thought it would be sort of awkward to go to his house with Keith. Keith recognized my hesitation.

"Come on, Georgie! You're friends with Ponyboy, right?" This took me by surprise. What did Ponyboy have to do with Soda's house. I nodded tentively before Keith plowed on. "Maybe he'll be home, you guys can talk or something and you'll meet the rest of the gang!" He grinned excitedly. I smiled half heartedly. The rest of the gang? Sounded inviting. I contemplated my choices. I could go home and have Momma fuss over my non-existent illness. I could stay at Keith's and wait until Auntie Rachie got home. This could be at midnight. My third option would be to just go with Keith to Soda's place and see Ponyboy, my only almost kind of friend. Keith eyes followed mine and he smirked when he saw me smile grudgingly. Soda whooped happily and I soon found myself being dragged down the street by the two craziest people I had ever met. Soda was doing crazy things like walking on his hands. How did he do that? He saw me watching and winked at me. I blushed and focused my attention on Keith. I was pretty sure that Keith was already drunk, even though it was only one o'clock. He spoke louder than usually and kept stepping off of the curb. I didn't check though. He could, more or less, deal with his drinking. Unlike some of us. I shuddered again, remembering my still throbbing headache.

Keith was telling a story how he had stolen a knife from a hardware store. I actually stopped walking. A knife? What on earth would Keith need a _knife _for? Soda and Keith walked a couple more steps, before they realized that I hadn't moved. They turned around, puzzled and look at me real confused.

"Georgie? Something wrong?" Oh yes, there was something wrong. Something very wrong.

I hate knives. I hate them. Just like I hate guns, bombs and war. They aren't necessary. Violence is never necessary. I couldn't believe that Keith had one. Why? Knives like that are only used for one thing. I would know. I still have a scar on the back of my neck from a couple of years ago. I remember it so vividly. The way my palms sweated as I was cornered. The sound of cold mirthless laughter. The cool metal against my skin. It had seemed too real. Too much at once. Most of all, too much pain. I had known that Momma would lose it if she saw the cut. It wasn't deep but it was long and hurt like a mother. I didn't go to a hospital either. When I went to the library, I would casually check out books on nursing and infection. I treated my cut carefully and kept my hair down until it was healed. Momma never did find out.

"Keith?" My voice sounded like a strangles whisper and I felt like a mere child. "What do you need a knife for?" Keith's eyes flooded with realisation. He smiled kindly at me.

"No worries, Georgie, I don't use it or nothing," He pulled it out of his pant pocket to show me it didn't even have the cover taken off. "It just looks tuff." Soda nodded in agreement beside him. I felt sort of embarrassed to have caused a scene. We continued down the street until we reached Soda's house. It was a bit like mine; small and rundown. The grass was cut though and there weren't any broken windows like in mine. I wondered if Soda lived alone or with his parents/ I couldn't figure out how old he was. He had mentioned before that he wasn't in high school, but he didn't look older than eighteen.

He bounded up the steps and beckoned for me and Keith to follow. We did. Soda pushed the door open and I realized that his door wasn't locked either. Boys… I followed Keith and Soda slowly. The radio was blasting loudly. I recognized Elvis and smiled to myself. No one looked up when we entered; they were all absorbed in a heated match of poker. It was fine by me. I let go of the door and stood there for a minute. The door slammed suddenly and I inwardly groaned.

All the boys playing poker looked up at me, their faces varying emotions. The guy with the dark curls scowled at me before pulling an ace out from under the table. I didn't say nothing. Let sleeping dogs lie. I recognized Ponyboy, who smiled at me. I smiled back, happy to see a friendly face. There was another guy there, with greasy black hair. He had tanned skin and endless black eyes. We made eye contact before both quickly looking away. There was an awkward moment of silence before the door swung open behind me. I didn't have to turn around to guess who it was. I could recognize that low cursing voice anywhere. The clomp of boots circling around me, studying my face. I didn't dare to look him in the eyes.

Finally Dal stopped. "What's she doing here?"


	17. Temper

What was I doing here? I was the only girl in a room full of tough, scary guys. A gang, they called themselves. I hoped it wasn't like a real gang. Real gangs run around with guns and knives, robbing stores and mugging people in the streets. Maybe this gang was just a group of friendly people. It sounds stupid, even to me. A group of friendly people. Pfft, I'm sure that's what it was. I felt even more awkward, to have Dal point out my being there. I obviously didn't fit in, who was I kidding. I hastily wiped my hands on my dress, before deciding to make a bold move. You can do it Georgia, I told myself. What did I have to lose after all? Just me against a hood. No sweat. I cleared my throat. One of these days my temper will get the better of me.

"_She's _here because she was invited," I jutted out my hip and tried to stare him down. I somehow managed to keep my face from turning red, which was nothing short of a miracle. Dal seemed taken back. He fumbled with his cigarette for a minute before putting it out. Everyone was watching tensely, ready to break up a fight if necessary. They didn't know me well enough. I reckon I ain't stupid enough to pick a fight with a grown man, thank you very much. Dal stepped forward, towering over me. He was trying to intimidate me, for sure. Tried to see if he scared me. Well, actually he did, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I made my eyes hard and mean, trying to burn him with my look.

He leaned forward and I didn't dare move or blink. Frankly I'm sick of people who think that they can walk all over me. Like no. I'm a person, I have feelings and people need to respect that. Dally blew smoke in my face. It was like a western showdown. My eyes were killing me, but I didn't dare blink. Never. What I did next, I know I should probably regret. I don't though. He had it coming. I grabbed that cigarette out of his bony fingers. I wasn't really thinking. I had only smoked a handful of times. At parties and such. I like that I can hold my smoke pretty well, I don't cough or nothing like some sissies. I don't smoke at home though; Momma would have my head if she knew I have smoked before. I don't smoke as much as I used to.

Before Dal could say nothing, I pulled one of his classy moves. I took his lighter and spun it around real impressive like in my hands. I lit up and inhaled some of the smoke. I put my mouth in an 'O' and blew an almost perfect smoke ring in Dal's stunned face before stomping it out with my too-small shoes. I grinned triumphantly. All the guys had looks of shock on their faces. Ponyboy slid a finger over his throat to show that he thought I was dead meat. Lucky guys don't hit girls or I would be. I was about to excuse myself to go to the washroom, when a sharp stinging pain brought me to reality. Dal stood there panting and bright red. He had slapped me! Right across the cheek. And it hurt too, like a mother. I really wanted to start bawling but that would just be humiliating. I held in my sobs. Putting my pain aside, I was really furious.

Like a fiery anger boiling up inside my gut. I wanted to push his face as hard as I could. Momma would say that it isn't lady like but hey I already blew smoke in his face so, what the heck. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. When I lose my temper I find it easy to just take a deep breath and separate yourself from the situation. My hands were slightly shaking though, yeah, my hands are usually my give away.

"What is your problem?" I exercised all my will not to raise my voice. "Before now, I've never done anything to you. I'm sorry; do you have a problem with what I look like? Have you ever considered that I have a problem with what you look like? I don't, but if I did I wouldn't act like its World War Two!" Dal rolled his eyes when I said this. He acted like he didn't care what I thought. I actually screamed in frustration. What was it with this guy! "Oh for heaven's sake, grow up!"

All the guys were looking at us back and forth like we were some kind of tennis match. Boys. I looked at Keith, hoping that he would back me up. He seemed pretty absorbed in watching television though. Thanks for the help, cousin. I glared at Dal to see if he would maybe fight back or even slap me again. He merely made a certain hand gesture and went to go join one of the guys on the couch. Well that's that. I hate to disappoint Keith, but some of his friends were jerks. Not going to use a stronger word than that.

Ponyboy headed outside and beckoned for me to follow him. We sat down in the small front yard. He offered me a Marlboro. I probably shouldn't but hey, it wasn't as if Momma would find out. So I took it. I borrowed Ponyboy's dark and simple lighter to light up. We didn't speak for a while but instead we practiced blowing smoke rings. I almost had them perfect. I liked to watch them floating up slowly, dancing in the air like a gypsy in the afternoon sky. It looked real pretty even if it was technically, air pollution. Ah well, my apologies, Mother Nature.

"Dal doesn't hate you," Ponyboy spoke up. I raised an eyebrow. What was he playing at? Dal had just slapped me! Ponyboy saw my skeptical expression. "He respects you know that he knows that you ain't some dumb little kid." I suppose that made sense. I wasn't some 'dumb little kid' so there. I guess I did show him. Get him off of his high and mighty horse. My temper wasn't all that bad.

A familiar puttering sound filled the streets. I quickly put out my cigarette and threw Ponyboy his lighter. He yelped and nearly dropped it. I recognized that sound though. Momma turned up the road and skidded to a stop in front of the house. She leaned out the window chomping on her gum excitedly. She waved real crazy like at me and Ponyboy. Parents are so embarrassing. Ponyboy waved back like it wasn't weird at all. I thank him for that cause I know she looked sort of psycho. She waved me over real excited like. I came close and she grabbed me by my collar and started to blab about some crazy happy news.

Good news with Momma is usually not so good.


	18. Caught in the Act

_A/N: Sorry, I know, I didn't update yesterday! I was having a little celebration because exams were over. And no, my celebration most definitely did not include Bacardi 151 ; )_

_Don't hate me though! I know I'm evil! Here's the new chappie. I got the idea about her Momma smelling her breath from one of my fabulous reviewers, LIlybelmae. Many thanks to her for the idea! : )_

_And I know that I made it seem like Georgia's principals were always men. I'm not sexist or anything but let's face it, it was the sixties'. Realistically, the principals would've been men. _

_Two-Bit's sister isn't existent in this fic! She won't come out long-lost or something, she just doesn't exist. I stuck a little bit of the song "I hate this part" by the Pussycat Dolls. If someone can find the two lines from that song, congrats!_

_Love y'all for reading and reviewing! I have had25 reviews, and reply to them all! Don't be afraid to send your feedback, I don't bite! : )_

Momma was blabbing on about something or other. Something about so exciting and amazingest thing that has ever happened to her. Huh. Somehow I doubt that,. Momma is such a drama queen sometimes. If she found a coupon for 40% off of a purchase over pork tenderloin, she would call it the best thing that ever happened to her. She doesn't eve like pork! I know not to disrespect my mother, so I listened sort of patiently, nodded when I thought necessary and smiled, hopefully, convincingly. Momma's eyeballs were bulging out of her face as she animatedly acted out things with her hands. At some parts she clapped brightly or rolled her eyes annoyingly. I kind of wanted to put a thick piece of duct tape on her mouth. I was picking at my nail polish. I knew to zone out Momma when she got like this. At the end of her tale she grabbed my face in her tiny hands and patted my cheeks like I was two years old instead of twelve.

"Isn't it terrific!" She squealed and bounced a little in her seat. Wasn't what terrific. Momma pulled me through the window into a big hug. My legs were awkwardly squished against the Volvo. " So, you start school tomorrow!" She chirped.

School? Tomorrow? No way. I wouldn't have any friends. It would be just like all my other schools. I come in late, of course, because Momma is never punctual. She would be tottering in behind me in those ridiculous high heels. The principal would, as usual, forgive her when he caught sight of her short skirt and big hair. It was really awkward and embaressing to have your mother exchange phone numbers woth your principal.. Yrah, school's not a favourite for me.

"Momma, I don't want to start school tomorrow," I whined. "I'm tired of new schools." Momma's eyes narrowed as she asked me to repeat what I said. Is she going deaf now? I leaned forward and repeated what I had said slowly, enunciating every syllable. Momma's face grew stony. What now? She beckoned for me to get in the back of the green junk machine. I had only recently arrived at Soda's home though! I couldn't leave yet! I turned desperately to Ponyboy, but he was already waving goodbye to me from his porch. Dang it. I climbed in the back, wondering what this new anger angled towards me was about. I had done all my chores? I made my bed and she knew I was at a friend's so I didn't have to clean up the rest of the house with her. Oh no! She was probably angry about my complaining about school. School is a touchy topic with my mother because she had to drop out early and work hard to support me, since my father was dead and her own father wouldn't give her a penny. She always tells me how learning is a privilege. I felt really rotten for saying something rude like that when she didn't get to finish school in the first place. I hung my head low on my chest as we sped away from Soda's home. I can feel heat waves of anger emitting off of Momma. And right now radio's all that we can here. We ain't talked since we left, it's so overdue. The tension in the air increases. I suddenly found the air incredibly stifling and stuffy. I tried to open a window but it was jammed shut. It was as if my guilt and flooded out and filled the car.

"Momma!" I blurted out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I love it!" I hoped that she would forgive me. Her mouth hung open in shock and for a minute she resembled a fish. If it wasn't for the situation I would have laughed out loud. Momma mouthed silently the words that I had spoken as if she was trying to understand them. She frowned. What was wrong with her?

She pulled over slowly to the sidewalk. Momma put her head in her hands and made a muffled cry sound. I was seriously puzzled now. Was that happy crying because I enjoyed school? Or was she upset because I got to go to school and she didn't? I wasn't sure but I smoothed her shoulder and said things like there there to calm her down.

"I didn't think that you ever would!" She wailed. I wasn't following? Had I missed something? "You were always such a good kid, I should've known!" Um, alrihgt then.

"Why are you so confused that I like school? I've never acted like I hated it?" I was so confused now! Momma wiped her watery eyes and cocked her head to one side.

"I'm not talking about school, Georgia!" She said experatedly.

What was she talking about then? My mother did not get upset this easily.

Okay, never mind, she did. But still, why was she crying? And what was she talking about then? She caught my eye and shook her head sadly. She spoke so quietly that I had to lean in to hear what she said.

"I know that you just smoked with Ponyboy, Georgia. Your friendship with him ends right now."


	19. A First For Everything

My best friend is my Momma. I know that best friends are supposed to be funny, honest and supportive. Momma was all of those things; she was all that I had. But best friends are also supposed to be your age. Still, I did everything with my mother, like she was my best friend. I know she tried so hard to include me in her life, since I have had few friends in my short lifetime. There are some things that you just can't speak to your mother about though. I love her like crazy, but I could never tell her about, certain things. Take boys for example. If I told her that I thought a certain boy was cute, Momma would just shake her head sadly and wag her finger at me. 'Boys are just trouble, Georgia, and you do not need any trouble in your little life." She always told me that, yet she went through boys like laundry. When she's done with them, it's like she can't stand being in the same state as them. So, either they leave, or we do.

In the past Momma had picked some real lousy boyfriends. Few even acknowledged me. There were so many redneck heartbreakers that would stick around for some of Momma's, er, benefits and then leave when they were bored of her. Technically, she wouldn't go through boys like laundry, they'd go through her like laundry. And worse, she'd let them. I wouldn't have. I think the main reason that Momma still even dates is because she has some twisted idea that if she finds a nice white man, her daddy will accept her again. Well, we ain't heard from Granddaddy ever, so I reckon she's just being stupid. I don't even know if she likes the guys she dates, or if she just likes knowing that she dates them.

I wonder where Momma was going to marry my father. In Tulsa, she had told me. But where? It wasn't that small of a town and I didn't know how many churches there were, or if they were going to elope. Eloping would've been so romantic! A forbidden marriage, like in a book I had read for English class last year, Wuthering Heights. Romantic, but not realistic. Life's not a fairy tale. I know that Momma found that out when my father got hit by a car. I once saw a piece of paper stating his cause of death. It was a long time ago, when I was putting socks in Momma's drawer. It was at the very bottom, all wrinkled and frayed at the edges. It said that he didn't even survive the impact of the car smashing him into a tree. He was dead upon arrival. I cried a little when I read that. He had no hope... I never told Momma that I read that. I don't know if she figured it out but the next time that I was folding socks, the paper was gone. I never had the heart to ask her for it back. It didn't seem right, bringing it up. Father was an unspoken subject, like we feared it was taboo. I'm sure that if he was alive he would have been my second best friend, But alas.

Don't get me wrong, I have friends, colleagues and acquaintances. Heck, I even made a few enemies along the way. But no best friends. At some point I would move away, or they would or their parents would encourage them to kindly leave me. Parents were the worst. NO, not mine. Mine are marvelous, one listens to me from above and the other just listens. Yet, I find myself yearning for more. Was it awful wicked? To hope for more when there are so many that have nothing? I ponder this lot. I reckon I must be a wicked girl. I had been here for only three days, and I already had three potential friends. School hadn't even started yet. I am pretty blessed.

And now, Momma was saying that she was forbidding me to see Ponyboy? That's not what it sounds like. I'm not _seeing _Ponyboy. Well, I'm seeing him but not romantically. I'm just friends with him. Besides who was she to say that smoking was bad? She smoked sometimes! I saw her! Whenever John. Gabe, Moe left she would sneak into the backyard "for some air" or "to stretch her legs". I would see her out of the window though. I ain't stupid. I could see her puffing outside in the cold and crying to herself. I rarely even smoked! I found this particularly frustrating, that Momma was allowed to do something but I was a mere child so of course I couldn't.

I never disobey my mother. There is, however, a first for everything. Momma started up the engine, ready to get going back home and looking smug and cheerful that her message had sunk in. I think not. I made sure that we weren't going too fast on the speed meter and wiped my sweating palms on the knees of my dress before pushing open the car door and jumping out.

I'm going to die, I thought. Goodbye world. I had my eyes shut tight together but dust still infiltrated my vision. Dust crawled into my airways as well and I hacked up a lung, trying to get that rancid grainy taste out of my mouth. I was lying there in a disgraceful heap on the side of the road. A few cars slowed down and gave me strange looks. I hoped I didn't see anyone that I knew. My vision was clearing up and I had to blink a few times before I could truly see what damaged I had caused. My dress was torn in a few places and was covered in a red dust. I had a couple of cuts on my legs and I didn't even want to see my hair.

My vision was back to normal and I could see a green vehicle turning around abruptly and hurtling in my direction down the road. A green vehicle containing a very angry Momma.

I'll admit it wasn't my best plan.


	20. Not a Bad Kid

I ain't ever been in trouble. Well, shoot, I ain't ever been caught. It ain't like I'm some bad kid, getting into trouble each and every day. Nope, not me. I've seen those kids before though, sauntering into first period, ten minutes late, bleary eyed and rude. I saw the way that they would lean up against the school walls and light up their cheap joints, daring teachers to do something. They never did. Cowards, I would think. I wasn't some little angel, that never did nothing bad. Sure, there were a couple of times when I would sneak out, go to parties, smoke up a bit. Never major, and never did Momma ever find out. If she did it would break her little heart. She prides herself on raising me right, and all by herself with no man or nothing. I let her believe what she wanted to. I figured hey, if Momma ever did find out, she wouldn't be too mad. Momma didn't ever really get riled up. Well, everyone is wrong sometimes.

I was still lying there at the edge of the highway with the green junk machine barreling down towards me. Momma was so mad that her pale skin was a bright pink. I had only seen her look this angry one time before. It was a few years back, around Christmas time. Christmas is sort of quiet at my place. We each give and get a couple of things and then eat a microwaved turkey dinner. I secretly hated those microwave dinners, mushy and bland, but Momma didn't know how to cook much other than macaroni and collard greens. I never got any allowance so if I wanted something I'd have to make due without or find an alternative. I had decided that that year I would give mOmma a wreath I had made in school. It wasn't the prettiest; it was a bit crooked and there were some bare patches. I knew that Momma would appreciate it though, she always did. I had carefully wrapped it in a plain red paper I had "borrowed" from school. I carefully hid it underneath my bed and counted down the days until Christmas. Momma had told me early that Santa Claus, Father Christmas, whatever didn't exist. It didn't bother me though. I would count down the days to Christmas. When I'd get back from school I would run to my room, giggling and lock the door. I would make sure that my mother wasn't listening on the other side and then I'd dive under the bed, retrieving my gift for Momma. I would just hold it and get a warm feeling, knowing that she would like it so much.

On Christmas Eve, Momma and I watched a parade on the old beat up television we had and eat leftover macaroni. We stayed in our pajamas and snuggled on the couch, watching until we feel asleep. I would breathe in her scent and have dreams of living in a big house, where Santa did exist. Momma would always fall asleep before me, so I waited until her breathing was slow and steady. I quietly rolled off of the sofa, being careful not to make any noise. _Creeeeeak! _I whipped around to see if Momma had woken. She still had her eyes shut but she was pushing her hair out of her face and mumbling in her sleep. I stood there transfixed, unable to move. Momma rolled back over and started to snore quietly. I tiptoed down the dark hall, avoiding any creaky floorboards. I darted into my room and grabbed my wrapped gift for Momma. I skittered out again as fast as I had entered, and crawled quietly to the tree. It was a pathetic tree, almost bare. It was as if it was balding, like an old man. My two gifts were already placed there. I set down Momma's wreath carefully and stepped back to admire the way that it looked. There was a bit too much tape on the gift, but other than that, it was pretty decent. I crawled over to the couch and joined Momma, drifting to dreams about sugarplums and all that stuff kids dream about.

I woke up the next morning to Momma shaking me awake. Her bright white smile was from ear to ear and she was giggling like a little girl. She pulled me off the couch and handed me a tray with sticky buns and hot chocolate. She never let me open present without eating my breakfast. I swallowed the hot chocolate so quickly that it burned my tongue and throat. I ate about half of the sticky bun before putting it to the side impatiently. I ran to the tree and grabbed my presents. They were not exactly what I wanted. A whisk and some socks. But I smiled anyways I told Momma I loved them. She had been laid off of her waitressing job a week ago, and I knew better than to complain. She beamed when she saw how I liked her gift.

I was about to give Momma my gift. At that moment, Chris, Momma's ex-boyfriend, barged inside. He wasn't drunk but he sure was mean. I don't know why he had come; he didn't even have a gift for Momma! He probably wanted to eat our food, drink our beer. When he saw me he sneered and sat down in the old armchair, by the fire.

"Henny, who's that from?" He had a real deep, scratchy voice that made me shiver. Momma held up the gift that I gave her, smiling brightly and showing him the small card that I had made for her with my small hands. He smiled wistfully. Before either of us could react, he reached out and threw my wreath, bow and all, into the dancing flames of the fireplace. That was the only time I had seen Momma angry.

She screeched the green junk machine up beside me now, steaming mad.

Shoot, I was in for it now.


	21. Third Degree

"Get in. Now." Momma's nostrils flared as she jerked her thumb towards the back seat. Her huge shades were slipping down the bridge of her nose and her hair was dishevelled. I reached out absentmindly and pushed her hair out of her face. She kept her face stony and if I had to play poker against her I knew I would lose. I know when to give up though; Momma wouldn't accept forgiveness of a kind word or gesture. I opened the rusty door and plopped on the dirty seat. There were about five cars behind us, all rusty and in need of a carwash. It's pretty lousy when you can actually tell if people are poor or rich. I know I can. It sounds like such a snobby thing to say but I just notice that if someone is wearing dirty clothes or too small shoes. It's not like I look down on them or anything; my newest sneakers are a year old.

I looked in the rear view mirror hesitantly. Momma didn't look back at me but she pushed her big endless glasses up on her nose again and frowned harder. It felt like a slap in the face. Momma and I got along always. What happened to "As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be"? What a load of bull. Basically, Momma was mad at me because I had smoked a cigarette. One measly cigarette! I never get mad at her, at least not to her face! It ain't like she's some saint or something with her slim pickings and emotional range of an ocean. Clear skies one day, stormy the next. I pride myself on being level-headed. Teachers always tell me how consistent I am, and how they can count on me from regularity. I'm proud but at the same time I sort of resent that. I kind of want to be one of those kids without a care in the world. No one to please and no expectations.

I hope that doesn't make me sound awfully foolish, wishing for things as silly as that. I know I ain't foolish.

As much as I detest having Momma mad at me, I was not going to surrender first. She reached over to the smashed up radio and tuned it to some crappy station.

"_Blue, blue, bluuuuue! That's how I am without youuu!" _A silky voice filled up the car. I scrunched up my nose; I hate cheesy love songs! Momma knows that more than anyone else too. Fine, two can play this game. She smiled smugly, like _she _was defying me and getting revenge. That the best you can do, Momma? Play some music at me? I leaned against the window. I slowly shut my eyes to block out General Gray's incredible shrilly song. And to formulate a plan.

We drove past Soda's house. Pounding music seeped out from the windows. Smoke escaped as well, followed by the sound of a smoke alarm and shouting. Yep, I reckoned that those boys were still there. Either that or an Indian powwow was going on. Ponyboy was still sitting there, on the porch, smoking what looked like his fifth cigarette. Those cigarettes would be the death of him! His eyes and ears perked up when he recognized the familiar rumble and roar of my old car. He looked up as Momma came out, teetering on her high, high heels like a person on stilts. I groaned and smacked my for head. This wasn't happening! The last time Momma tried to "talk" to my friends we ended up getting a stone that said "SKANK" on it thrown through her bedroom window. Such a lovely housewarming gift it was.

Momma awkwardly pulled her stilettos out of the grass and tried to pat down weeds on the holes, to make the little bullet sized gaps in the ground she had left behind less visible. If it wasn't so humiliating, it might actually have been a bit funny. Ponyboy evidently though so too; he faked a cough when Momma almost lost her balance for the second time. I had rolled down my window all the way, but I still couldn't hear what they were saying. Momma awkwardly plopped down beside Ponyboy, trying not to reveal her underwear from underneath her short dress. She smoothed down her hair sprayed curls and straightened her huge frames. Ponyboy looked at her expectantly and offered her a cigarette. She looked up at me, clearly torn between taking up his offer and coming off as a hypocrite to me. In the end, she waved his hand away like it was a pesky fly that she couldn't be bothered with. Ponyboy shoved the rejected cigarette back into his pants pocket. Momma started questioning him. I couldn't hear them but I could tell by the way that she stared him down and by the way that he rubbed the back of his pink neck awkwardly. Momma motioned animatedly with her hands and raised an eyebrow at his response. Good lord, I would never be able to live this down! Oh Momma!

After about five more minutes of wrecking my life Momma attempted to stand up. She sort of pushed off of the ground and fell back down again. Ponyboy bit back a grin and being the gentleman that he is, tried to help her get up. He ended up awkwardly pushing up on her bum. He blush deep pink and let go as if the back of her skirt was on fire. She promptly lost her balance and fell onto his lap with an undignified screech. I rolled up my window and laughed as loud as I could since Momma nor Ponyboy could hear me. They looked ridiculous! Momma did some kind of shimmy off his lap that set his face bright as a lobster again. She held her head high and walked back to the car, where I was residing; stopping to jerk the heels of her shoes out from the dirt and grass, ruining the lawn as she did so. I could hear her facetious shoes drawing closer to the green old junk machine. _Click- Clack! Click- Clack! _ I put on my best poker face and stared at the back of the passenger seat rather than look at her directly. As stupid as she had been, I really was still angry at her. Angry for writing to Lou, angry for trying to charm Darrel, angry for sending out Darrel to look for me, angry that she tried to tell me who I can and can't be friends with and angry for embarrassing be like that! That's a whole lot of angry.


	22. Duffel Bag

_A/N: Sorry, I know that I haven't updated in a while! I've been getting a lot of homework, and then I had writer's block, which was worse than it sounded. I couldn't write more than 400 word rants. : (_

_Over it though! So, enjoy! Review and tell me what you think, I love listening to your opinions and ideas! _

When we pulled into the driveway, I wrested my seatbelt out from its buckle. I wrenched my door open, and maybe pulled something out of my arm socket. I jumped out and stalked towards the door. I could hear Momma's feeble cries and the clicking of her cheap shoes behind me, but I didn't acknowledge her. Did I mention that silent treatment is part of the payback? I had my whole act down to a tee. I reached out and pushed open the door expecting to step inside. _Ouch! _I slammed into the heavy door, hitting my forehead against the little window of the door. What the…? I pushed myself out of my sitting position. I rubbed my forehead carefully; that had really hurt!

Momma giggled and reached forward a thin rm to help me up. I pretended not to see it. She sobered up and unlocked the door with her stupid keychain that she bought when we crossed through to Oklahoma. It said "_I survived Oklahoma!" _and showed a picture of a small girl smiling wide as she stood beside Oklahoma's largest donut or something. I looked closer. Maybe it was Oklahoma's largest cheerio…

I was planning to retreat to my room for an everlasting slumber. Or atleast a half hour of solid napping. My stomach roared with indignation. Sleep would have to wait. I yawned and headed towards the kitchen, where I could hear Momma talking. Had she installed a telephone so quickly? I reckon that's a record for her. It usually took about a week for Momma to get the phone working. It took her four days of trying and grumbling, one day of crying like a big baby, and two days of finding the perfect guy to install it for us. Momma was just like that; starting out strong and resolute, and then sinking into the arms of a hero. What a joke. I headed down to the kitchen, ready to congratulate Momma on a job well done.

I think my heart actually stopped though. It stopped beating and came back up in my throat, like Momma's cooking. My heart kept on rising though. Was this a normal reaction to whom a saw? I think it was. My heart stopped, thumping in my ears like the beat of jump rope games I was never invited into. _Mailman, mailman do your duty… _ There was Lou! Sitting at my table! Eating my food! I was so mad that I could spit. I've never been a person to be held back. So I did spit, right on that beef chili that Lou was about to get his greedy hands all over. Momma stopped singing and dancing. Her mouth went in a little 'O' shape, with her eyes a bit bugged out like a crazy lady's. Lou's dace was strangely calm, as he looked at me and narrowed his eyes. Lou looked worse than he had when Momma had left him. His spiky red hair was shorter now, running close to a shaved head. It made him look like he had just come back from jail. Maybe he had. His skin was pink and red like a lobster, with deep creases in some spots. He had a colourless stubble that would be turning into a beard soon, if he didn't shave it off. He had a big duffel bag beside him, with a dirty shirt hanging out of the side. I wonder what he had that needed a duffel bag.

He grabbed the frayed collar of my dirty dress and pulled me in. The collar was digging into the back of my neck. I screwed up my face in disgust as he started to speak, his breath smelled like corn bread.

"Listen close," he growled. "I don't tolerate that kind of disrespect in my house." His house? What the hell? He didn't live here? I l didn't even do so much as spare Momma a glance, I knew that she was going along with whatever Mr. Man wanted her to. Even if it meant betraying her own daughter. Thanks, Momma. I yanked my body out of Lou's reach. My neck pressed into the collar of my dress, almost strangling me for a second.

"What do you mean 'your house'?" I whispered. Lou raised his eyebrows. Momma suddenly hurried around the kitchen frantically, like the counter suddenly _had _to be washed. Lou wouldn't be moving in, would he? Momma had only had a handful of boyfriends actually move in. It wasn't that she didn't want them to; men just don't like commitment. Was Lou moving in? That would explain the duffel bag full of smelly clothes. And how he ate all our food. And how he was saying "my house". Yeah, Lou was moving in.. I subtly stole a glance at Momma's fingers. Thank God, that they weren't engaged though. But the situation was anything from relieving. Lou is a male, chauvinist pig. I never hate anyone, but lou comes pretty close to that line of hate. He wiped the back of his thick hairy arm, smirking when he saw me working this all out in my head. Damn, I hate when he's right.

I didn't need people like that weighing me down. I abandoned the idea of having a snack or dinner, for that matter. I couldn't sit across from him at the dinner table, and have him look at me, like I was his daughter, or something. Momma was worse though, acting like she was all innocent and saint-like. That bothered me the most. How she always said that she loved me, in the solace of our home, on dark nights when shadows moved across my room, or in the comfort of a rainy day. When we were joined by some jerky guy, she would do whatever he wanted her to do though. It was perfectly nauseating. And she wonders why I don't like her boyfriends.

I stepped into the cold shower, mauling over my thoughts. Some of her boyfriends weren't actually that bad. I don't like them because I feel like they hold her back. Holding her back from her full potential. They don't really get to know her, they meet a shallow superficial version of Momma. Which is sad. I know that she has admirable qualities, but not defending me wasn't one of them. I brushed at my teeth with vigour. I wish that my father was still living. Wishes ain't realtiy though. I never forget that. I laid myself down in my single bed, and flicked off the single lightbulb. I said a quick prayer for Momma to get over Lou and his chili breath, before succumbing into a troubled slumber.


	23. Counting Sheep

_A/N: I don't think I've done a disclaimer. I don't own The Outsiders or The Flesh Eaters. _

_Reviews are really appreciated, and flames are welcome! Shout-out to my loyal readers and reviewers that give me feedback and advice. Thank you guys!_

I slowly pryed open my eyes. It was black as night and the only light was seeping through the blinds on my window. I couldn't tell what time it was; I hadn't put my clock on my wall yet. It must've been late though; the moon was full and shone bright like a flashlight. I shivered and pulled my worn blanket around me tighter. I started to close my eyes, then snapped them wide open again. All the shadows that my closet made seemed to be inching forward. There was a sudden creak come from the closet and I drew back further into my covers. I shut my eyes tightly and started counting sheep in my head. The first sheep was grey, with a pink bandana on his head. He gave a comical _Baaa! _He throttled forward to jump over the wooden rail placed in a field, and smashed into it instead, blood exploding everywhere. I popped my eyes back open. Counting sheep definitely wasn't helping. The windows cracked as a strong gust of wind picked up. Sometimes, when I get scared of the dark, it helps if I try to count up as high as I can before falling asleep.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight… _I kept counting over and over, trying to ignore the creeps and scary shadows that laid behind my closed lids, which protected me like a shield. Whenever things got tough, I would close my eyes, and I wouldn't have to deal with it. If I can just close my eyes, whatever it is that's troubling me, isn't there anymore. I think that I got up to three thousand seven hundred when I heard it. It was a high pitched squeak, coming from the closet. An alien! I screamed as loud as I could. I reckon I could've woken up the whole neighbourhood with a scream like that! I pushed myself off of the lumpy matress and grabbed my blankets for protection. Still screaming, I waved the blanket at the evil closet, like a was a exsorcist banishing a demon. I fumbled around with the knob of my door. Why did it seem so slipper? Why did I choose a room with a door that stuck? Another sudden squeak pierced the air. I swung my blankets around at the closet once more.

"Be gone, crazy alien!" I shrieked. I wiped my sweaty palms hastily on my old nightdress before taking a deep breath. _In through the nose, out thorugh the mouth. _I pushed all my body weight against the door, while turning the knob and stumbled into the hallway. I shot right up and peered around. The hallway was even creepier than my bedroom! It was pitch black, first of aall. I felt along the sides of the walls, searching for Momma's door. I tripped over a cord and hit my foot on the corner of a wall, stubbing my toe. I fought back the urge to jump up and down; I was on a mission! I felt my way up and down the walls until I felt a door. I couldn't hear anything from behind it. Maybe Lou hadn't moved in. I knocked on the door tentively, hoping that Momma would wake up and let me into the light of her room. It was so scary, I kept looking over my shoulder, making sure that there weren't any aliens that followed me.

I really shouldn't watch horror movies. I saw my first and last one a few months ago. I only agreed to go because Momma seemed to love horror movies so much. They are so much fun, she had jumped up and down with excitement. That Friday night, we had waited outside the theater. Momma dragged me inside and kindly asked the ticket man for two to see _The Flesh Eaters. _I should have known that it was scary from the title. Momma was utterly giddy with excitement. She ushered me to a fluffy seat, right in the front and beside her. The previews were okay; advertising for a children's movie and a western showdown. It seemed indifferent. Then the movie started. It was about an actress and her assistant who land on a small island. Slowly people start getting devoured by a flesh eating monster. I think that I screamed myself hoarse that day! The first few minutes were slightly eerie, but not really scary. Suddenly spastic dead bodies would flay and convulse before being devoured by a crazy machine gone worng. There were fountains of blood and still pusling hearts that leapt out of victim's throats. After a particular gruesome kill, involving a headless child, I leaned into my popcorn bag and threw up all the popcorn I had already eaten. I had to beg Momma to leave, but she actually seemed to enjoy it. She would scream along with the rest of the theater, but happily, as if this was some kind of adrenaline rush. How could she do that? Everytime that a monster mchine appeared on the screen, I would have to close my eyes, or cover them with my trembling fingers.

Momma had finally let us leave the dark theater, but only once the movie was over. That night I couldn't sleep. I was terrified. When I shut my eyes, I was scared that there would be a monster, an alien or a killing machine, just waiting for me close my eyes. I would shut my eyes for a couple of minutes, and quickly open them shortly after. As a result, it was extremely hard for me to fall asleep and for a few months I had dark circles protruding from under my eyes. I thought those days were over.

I knocked again on Momma's door, a bit louder this time. Still no answer. I tried calling her name quietly. The door creaked open and a figure stepped outside. It wasn't Momma though. It was Lou, wearing a ratty pair of pajama pants. He blinked his bloodsho eyes until they adjusted to the darkness. His eyes flickered around for a couple of seconds, before landing on me. He didn't look much better than he had earlier; his facial hair still needed shaving, and his nearly gone hair was dirty. His eyes narrowed. He took a step forward, casing me to step back.

"What the devil are you doing?" He spat out.


	24. Don't Wait

I admit, I have my faults. Momma says that I'm "perfectly Georgia", whenever I ask if I have any flaws. I know that I'm not though. Sometimes I stare in the mirror, tracing over my reflection and thinking. I am a liar, a cheater, rude and I have a temper. That night, when Lou stepped out of Momma's bedroom, I was also a coward. I don't have much respect for cowards. They run away from everything in life because of their fear and lack of bravery. I always told myself I would never be one. Ah well… Even I'm wrong sometimes.

I went back to bed, ignoring the urge to turn around and see if there were any aliens watching me as I returned to my room, or worse, if Lou was watching me. I slipped back into my warm bed and tried not to think about blood or monsters or zombies. I just squinted real tight and thought about going to a new school tomorrow. I wouldn't really know anyone; Keith and Ponyboy would be in high school and I in middle school. I've never needed to know anyone before though; I reckon I would do just fine. I'm not sure when I fell asleep but I kept playing possible scenarios in my mind of what could happen tomorrow morning. I think I dozed off some time after the teacher turned into an orca whale.

When I woke up, Momma and Lou were still sleeping. I expect they were tired, knowing what they did last night. Yuck. I let my body get soaked up in the sun that streamed through the dusty old window. It felt like it was going to be a warm day. I could try on one of my nicer summer dresses. Maybe the one with the daisies on it… I rolled off of my thin mattress and headed for the bathroom. I breathed deeply before looking into the small mirror. My face had pillow marks on it and was puffed up from the fact that I hadn't gotten enough sleep last night. My hair was far worse though. I half-heartedly pulled it low, maybe willing to make it go straight somehow. It wasn't an afro like most black girls' hair. It was rather, in big curls. Long curls that swung down my back nicely, if well combed out. When not combed out though, they were more like frizzy strands, knotted together in unison of ruining my life. I grabbed the old hairbrush that Momma kept from her own childhood and used it to rip through the knots in my thick hair. I was used to this violent method of grooming, and I knew it was the only way to look somewhat presentable. I absently stroked my own hair and reminisce.

I used to ask Momma what she could teach me. School ain't teaching me much of anything useful. I meant like life lessons. I looked at all these old pictures of children and their parents learning together, being one being on an old sofa while reading old maps or painting together in union. Some of the world's greatest leaders didn't go to school; how did they learn? Momma told me all that I needed to know. "You sit there in your heartache, waiting on some beautiful boy to save you from your ways." She would shut her tearing eyes and sob into her hands until her makeup was all washed anyway and she was just plain blue eyed Momma. "You just sit there in your heartache, Georgia. Don't wait for him." She would whisper, all trembling from head to toe.

I don't understand her, sometimes. I know that she never understands me. The beauty of it, I ripped at the right side of my curls, is that she thinks she knows me so well. Momma thinks, that she knows everything about me, that she is such a good parent, getting to know my likes and dislikes. I never told her half off it. Sometimes I wish that… Sometimes I wish that maybe if I had a black mother or a black father, I wouldn't have problems at school and with friends. I wonder that makes me awfully wicked, to wish for another parent.

I headed downstairs to grab some food before venturing into the great unknown. School is that unknown territory off in the distance that one can only hope for the best. Like a soldier heading to battle, I open the fridge and find only leftovers from last night. Cornbread with cold gravy and some pot roast were left over. Not even Lou can finish all of Momma's cooking! I leaned in to sniff the pot roast, and realised that it was evidently salad. Salad with mushrooms and avocado… My stomach grumbled but I wasn't going to take a chance with the daily special. I needed to wait for Momma to get up and ready though. I got together a small school bag that I've had for the past couple of years. It was still full of the essential papers and pencils. I swung it over one shoulder and went over my outfit.

Long light denim dress with yellow daisies on it and light yellow May Jane shoes. Passed my inspection, I would say. I quickly took a peek at the clock that hung on the wall. It was only eight fifteen; we wouldn't be leaving for another fifteen minutes. I sat down on the slightly wet grass and looked around me as birds came out and started to chirp, paper boys biked by, and the sun rose over the houses. It felt peaceful and calm. I just needed reassurance that this day would go well. Sitting outside almost made me forget about my problems. The keyword being almost.


	25. Nerves

_A/N: Sorry guys! I know that I have been super lazy with this story. Lately, I've been getting into summer shape and working out in the evenings after doing my homework, which leaves me tired and no time to write. Okay, and I'm just a lazy person by nature. I love how I'm at 64 reviews! Each review makes me smile! I love how people give me new ideas and characters for my story. Last thing, I've had maybe five reviews saying that Georgia was a lot like Scout from To Kill A Mockingbird. I had never read To Kill A Mockingbird, until last week and I loved it! I'm honoured that some of you compared Scout and Georgia. So that's my not so short author's note, don't hesitate to leave your feedback on this next chapter. I don't own The Outsiders._

I knew that Momma was behind me before she spoke. I know her smell. It was a mixture of coffee, hairspray and cheap perfume. When I say it out loud that sounds pretty nasty. It is not. When I snuggle up with Momma, the strange aroma is almost comforting. I don't know what I smell like. If I had to guess, I would say shampoo, grass, and a little like Momma. Momma stood behind me for a bit, not moving, just observing the lovely morning.

After about a minute, I pushed off the ground and wiped the dirt off my clothes before nodding to Momma. It was time. My hands were sweating and trembling already, No matter how many times I had started at a new school, I still got stutter-y and shaky. Maybe it was one of those things you can outgrow. Momma was already sitting in the driver's seat. I grabbed the door handle to get in my backseat. My palms were so sweaty that I had to wipe them on my shirt before trying again. I plopped on the worn out seat and placed my knapsack beside me. Momma started up the car and it roared to life. It was still awkward between us; I hadn't forgiven her for allowing Lou to join us, and she was angry with me for running away. I gazed out my window, as I often did. All the houses and yards blended into blur as we sped by. Momma suddenly slammed on her brakes, causing me to fly into the seat in front of me.

"Ow, Momma!" I complained. "What the hell was that?" Momma didn't even turn around she was waving and someone on the sidewalk. I smacked her arm, annoyed at her antics. She rolled down the window and spoke to whoever that was. I turned back and looked out the window again. We were in front of a family's home. Their house was big and modern looking. The yard was bright green with plants and flowers, the driveway scattered with children's toys. I was really looking at the family sitting in the grass playing with each other. There was the father, wearing a business suit and about to head off to work. He was smiling as he kissed his wife, son and daughter goodbye. His wife was beautiful, wearing an apron and talking playfully with her kids. They looked like a perfect family to me. My fingers slid down the window. I bet that if my father was still alive, he, Momma and I would look that happy.

The car door opened and I had to move down a seat to make room for Keith. He smiled brightly at me. I guess Momma had offered to drop him off at high school. Keith tried to make conversation with me, but I didn't really want to chat. I just nodded or shook my head when I deemed necessary. I wiped my hands on my skirt once more. I could feel little butterflies flying around my stomach, and I suddenly wanted to hurl. I could feel acid coming up my throat. I was sure that my face was white now. I looked at Keith frantically. He seemed to sense my urgency. He yelled at Momma to pull over to the side of the road. I quickly undid my seatbelt and bolted outside.

Vile acid erupted from my mouth as I spewed out my empty stomach's contents over the pavement. The colourless puke looked like a splash of paint against the grey pavement. I violently threw up once more, my stomach was turning uncomfortably. I wiped the dripping vomit from my mouth, breathing heavily. My first day was off to a promising start.


	26. Poetic Interlude

_A/N: The song is Twilight Galaxy by Metric. I was listening to it the other day and realised that the first couple verses fit exactly what Georgia has been struggling with. I'm not sure if I want to continue this story, but if you want more, let me know!_

Did they tell you, you should grow up when you wanted to dream?  
>Did they warn you, better shape up if you want to succeed,<br>I don't know about you, who are they talking to?  
>They aren't talking to me. <p>

I'm higher than high, lower than deep.  
>I'm doing it wrong, singing along<p>

Did I ask you for attention when affection is what I need?  
>Thinking sorrow is perfection I'd wallow till you told me.<br>There's no glitter in the gutter,  
>There's no twilight galaxy.<p> 


	27. IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE

I haven't been on this website alot, mainly because I spend most of my time focusing on my studies and schoolwork.

This was my first fanfiction story and I know that some of you still look forward for updates, but it's been a while and I feel as if I'm stuck in a never ending period of writers block.

I want to start writing again though, but I could really use some motivation. of you guys could give me ideas for this story or advice or just comments, I would really appreciate it! :)

thanks!

xoxo nicollerz


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